The Foreign Service Journal, July-August 2022

THE FOREIGN SERVICE JOURNAL | JULY-AUGUST 2022 59 On the very first page of the novel, which opens in St. Peters- burg in 1805 as Napoleon begins to dominate the continent, Tol- stoy establishes the sardonic treatment: A guest at a soirée sighs he must also make an obligatory appearance at a weekly event hosted by the English ambassador. Other Russians complain of the boring English gathering. And another guest, a young Pierre Bezukhov, the story’s hero and, in some respects, the avatar of Tolstoy, considers going into diplomacy as a profession. But, no, a diplomatic life simply won’t do. Pierre finds it not to his liking. We imagine the same for young Tolstoy deciding on his career. The Diplomat’s Charm Tolstoy inducts a multinational cast of ambassadors into his narrative: the English, Russian, French and Dutch envoys, as well as the Danish chargé. One of the novel’s most memorable characters is the Russian diplomat Bilibin. In his inimitable style, Tolstoy pumps lifeblood into the character. This is no caricature, no stereotype. We learn that Bilibin has served in Paris and Copenhagen and, before Napoleon ousted the Russians, in Vienna. He is young, only 35, but expe- rienced, having trained and served since he was 16. He is not one of the run-of-the- mill diplomats who advance solely by speaking French and keeping their head down. He is a hard worker. He takes pains in producing memos and reports (what we would call tradecraft), and yet—here a Tolstoyan salvo—he seems more concerned with the “how” in chronicling events than the “why” in compre- hending them. It’s a resounding critique, for Tolstoy is supremely interested in the big Why. He scoffs at discussions among his characters as to whether a diplomatic note was well or awkwardly composed. Trivial matters these, in his Olympian view. He dismisses the contention that a certain Diplomatic Note No. 178, through its poor wording, marked a turning point in the Napoleonic wars. How is not Why. Tolstoy, the gifted author, betrays a slight admiration for the diplomatic wordsmith. The fierce philosopher does not. Bilibin has several striking qualities, foremost of which is a facility with bon mots. Time and again, he launches them at social events. To signal their coming, Bilibin always screws up his face, as Tolstoy describes a dozen times in his most sustained satirical sally. Bilibin assumes they are so sparkling, they will be repeated often. If, however, he senses the company is not appreciative, he “treasures them up.” Mostly these are puns and wordplays, amusing but not profound, drawn from incidents of the day or—here a Tolstoyan zinger—from Bilibin’s own dispatches. The Russian diplomat has another habit, not unfamiliar to practitioners then or now. Bilibin relishes a cock-up story. How, for example, Napoleon secured a bridge that should have been blown up by the retreating Russian army; or how the Russian high command fell into inane bickering. The diplomat enjoys schadenfreude in the retelling, even if the misadventure involves his own side. He chafes at dip- lomatic discretion as a form of “torture.” Tolstoy does not con- sider all diplomatic work as empty. He credits Bilibin with solving the irksome puzzle for the Russians of how to address a diplomatic note to Napoleon without bestowing any undue status. Thus, “Emperor” or any other exalted title are out of the question. The ingenious solution: “To the Chief of the French Government.” Bravo, Bilibin. And yet the author seems to whisper, small potatoes . A portrait of Russian author Leo Tolstoy in 1868, one year before his novel War and Peace was first published in its entirety. AGEFOTOSTOCK/ALAMY