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[Illustration: Leo Tolstoy, 1910]
THE LAST DAYS OF TOLSTOY
by
VLADIMIR TCHERTKOFF
Translated from the Russian by Nathalie A. Duddington
1922
London: William Heinemann
Printed in Great Britain
CONTENTS
PAGE
Introduction ix
Public opinion demands that facts with regard to Tolstoy's going
away should be revealed--The conditions of Tolstoy's life were
a test of his consistency--Why is it necessary to publish the
circumstances of his going away?--The importance of Tolstoy's
example--Misrepresentation of the causes of his going away--The
moral duty of his friends to defend his memory--My task.
PART I
WHY TOLSTOY DID NOT LEAVE HIS HOME 1
(Letter to H. Dosev)
Dosev's mistake, common to many--Tolstoy's true motives--His
independence of the opinion of men--The limit of his yielding--In
order to go away he had to feel the necessity for doing so--It was
easier to go than to remain--Tolstoy's sufferings at Yasnaya Polyana
(from his intimate diary)--The mistake of passing censure upon his
life at Yasnaya--He fulfilled that which God required of him--His
love for his wife and his confidence in her--His self-sacrifice for
her sake--We must believe in his conscientiousness--The heroism of
his life in his family.
PART II
WHY TOLSTOY WENT AWAY
Chapter I.--The conditions of life at Yasnaya Polyana 18
Wealthy surroundings--False position in the eyes of men--Spiritual
break with his wife.
Chapter II.--Change for the worse in his wife's attitude to him 26
Change for the worse in the conditions of life at Yasnaya with
regard to the management of the estate, to the relations with the
peasants, and in his wife's attitude to him--Tolstoy gives up
landed property--His readiness to go away and the causes of his
delay in making a final decision.
Chapter III.--The history of the will 32
Tolstoy's attitude to property in general and to literary property
in particular--His differences with his wife on that score--Tolstoy's
firmness in renouncing the copyright of his works--His wife's
opposition--Short history of the drawing up of the will.
Chapter IV.--Intervals of rest--in other people's houses 48
Mental and physical revival--Creative work.
Chapter V.--The last period 52
Summer of 1910--Period of suffering that undermined his health.
Chapter VI.--Mental agony 58
Tolstoy's disappointment at the impossibility of awakening his wife's
spiritual consciousness--Recognition that his further stay at Yasnaya
Polyana is unnecessary--The harm that his staying there did to Sofya
Andreyevna.
Chapter VII.--The night of Tolstoy's going away 63
The last touch--Preparations and departure--Entries in the diary.
Chapter VIII.--Tolstoy's relation to his wife 67
Letters to her in 1897 and after his departure--Reasons why he did
not wish to see her.
Chapter IX.--The motives that decided his going away 78
The last straw--Mistaken judgments about Tolstoy's going away.
Chapter X.--The significance of Tolstoy's going away and of the
whole spiritual achievement of his life 86
The one desire of his life, to do the will of God--The inevitability
of the end.
PART III
TOLSTOY'S ATTITUDE TO HIS SUFFERINGS 94
The growth of his inner consciousness during the second period of his
life. Extracts from the diary for 1884--Differences with his wife--On
the border of despair--Feeling of solitude--Memory of his mother and
his longing for her (1906)--Striving after God. Extracts from diary
and letters from 1889-1910--Family trials--The cross of his life, till
the end--His words about Sofya Andreyevna and consciousness of his
guilt (from a conversation with, and the letters to Tchertkoff)--The
mystery of another's soul--Tolstoy's thoughts that give a general
meaning to his interpretation of suffering ("The Reading-Cycle,"
"The Way of Life").
Appendix I 139
The inevitable one-sidedness of quotations made from Tolstoy's
writings for the purposes of the present narrative--His many-sided
personality--His power of controlling his sufferings and his natural
joy of life--The attainment of the true good.
Appendix II 143
My personal attitude to Tolstoy's wife--The experience and
observation of thirty years--My task is not to censure anyone
but to vindicate truth.
INTRODUCTION
So much misunderstanding, misrepresentation, partiality and personal
prejudice has accumulated in connection with the last years and days
of Leo Nikolaevitch Tolstoy's life, that before starting upon this
first detailed account of his "going away" I find myself compelled,
at the risk of wearying the reader's patience, to begin with a
somewhat lengthy introduction.
Now that Tolstoy's wife[1] is dead, the chief obstacle to revealing
the true causes of his going away from Yasnaya Polyana is removed.
Like other friends of Leo Nikolaevitch, I have said nothing for ten
years. During this time many people, some of them particularly
deserving of confidence and respect, have asked me to publish all
that I know about this event. As an instance I will quote a letter
from Mrs. Mayo, a well-known English authoress and admirer of
Tolstoy.[2]
"_Old Aberdeen,
Scotland,
Jan. 17, 1914._
"Dear Mr. Tchertkoff,
"Some of us in Great Britain feel that the time has come when it is
highly desirable that we should hear the story of the tragedy which
beset the last years of Leo Tolstoy's life, from one who was in its
scene.
"We can understand and respect your reticence up to this point. But
now so many rumours, derogatory to Tolstoy, and therefore likely to
diminish the weight of his teaching, are spreading over the world,
and seem to be the subject of a very active propaganda even in this
country.
"Hitherto, however, we have heard little or nothing save from those
who were notoriously out of sympathy with his principles, and who did
not scruple to put obstacles in the way of the carrying out of his
last will.
"Further, it has been unfortunate that the _Life of Tolstoy_ best
known in Britain is the work of one who, far from being a disciple,
is not even a neutral or impartial recorder, but is in flat
antagonism to Tolstoy's leading principle of non-resistance to evil
by violence.
"Therefore we appeal to you, Tolstoy's personal friend and
fellow-worker, that you should let us hear the facts of the case as
you saw them.
"Some of us feel that Tolstoy's own works explain enough. I remember
when I read the last page of the paper 'Living and Dying,' in his
_Three Days in the Village_, written only a few months before his
death, I realised that Tolstoy's spiritual anguish was being strained
almost beyond endurance.
"Again, I repeat that we all deeply respect the reticence you have
hitherto maintained. But there is a time to speak and a time to keep
silent. History shows us again and again how impossible it is to
unearth the truth when eye-witnesses are gone. Thus are engendered
the most misleading and mischievous myths.
"I trust that you will give this matter your deepest consideration,
and I remain,
"Yours with much regard,
(Mrs.) "Isabella Fyvie Mayo."
I have received many such requests, both spoken and written, from
many different people, some of whom were noted for their tact and
reserve, and whose opinion therefore carried special weight in this
delicate matter. Nevertheless I could not make up my mind.
I feel that the time has come at last to speak openly of what I know.
I approach my task with no light heart, but with a full consciousness
of the moral responsibility which it involves. In doing so I have but
one wish: to say nothing that is superfluous or out of date, and to
keep back nothing which I feel it my duty to Leo Nikolaevitch and to
other people to reveal.
In Leo Nikolaevitch Tolstoy's life two circumstances deserve special
notice. In the first place, the immediate external conditions in
which he was placed--that is, all he had to endure in his family life
and home surroundings--seemed to be specially designed as a severe
trial for him. If someone wanted to put to a practical test Leo
Nikolaevitch's sincerity, consistency and spiritual strength in
carrying out his conception of life, he could not have placed him
in conditions more suited for the purpose than those in which
Leo Nikolaevitch lived for the last thirty years of his life.
Secondly, it is remarkable that Leo Nikolaevitch bore this trial
irreproachably, though it was more severe than anyone unacquainted
with his intimate life could suppose.
There was a time when all educated Russians imagined, in their
spiritual blindness, that Tolstoy's "easy" life in Yasnaya Polyana
was a fresh example of the inconsistency with which great thinkers
fail to apply to themselves the lofty truths they preach. Tolstoy's
enemies rejoiced, and regarded his supposed inconsistency as a proof
of his theory being inapplicable in practice. His friends found
extenuating circumstances for his guilt, and thought that we should
be grateful to Tolstoy for the spiritual food he had given us, and
not be too hard upon his human weaknesses. And yet during all this
time, with a firmness which nothing could shake, and sometimes at the
cost of incredible suffering, Leo Nikolaevitch was carrying on the
most heroic work of self-abnegation, consistency and self-restraint
of which man is capable. He realised in his actions and in all his
personal life that which he preached, and both in his life and his
death he exemplified the complete renunciation of all personal
desires and the whole-hearted service of God, in which he believed
the purpose and the meaning of human life to consist.
I am well aware that this assertion may appear to be an exaggeration.
Some readers will be inclined to ascribe my words to the natural
enthusiasm of a "Tolstoyan" for his "teacher." Fortunately, however,
I have at my disposal a wealth of documentary material which
irrefutably confirms the truth of my words. I hope, in due time, to
publish this material as well as my own observations and facts known
to me with regard to Leo Nikolaevitch's family life as a whole.
Written documents which I have in my keeping sufficiently reveal the
general character of the conditions in which Leo Nikolaevitch had to
live. But if there were only these data to go upon, one would have to
resign oneself to inevitable blanks and omissions. The readers would
have to treat these documents like learned investigators treat
their historical material--that is, to fill up the blanks with
their own surmises, to connect the disconnected, and to reconcile
contradictions in accordance with their personal predilections and
the degree of their inventiveness. Among the extensive material
relating to Tolstoy's life there already exist, and will no doubt
appear in the future, communications which more or less misrepresent
the facts and even contain downright falsehoods. To the malicious joy
of Tolstoy's enemies there has already accumulated a whole
literature which depicts his personality, his life, his "going away"
and his death in a totally perverted manner, and is full of shameless
slander.
Under such circumstances, the future biographers of Tolstoy would
have--as is usually the case--to steer a middle course between all
the contradictory data in their possession. In doing so they will
not be able to avoid the misleading influence of the unreliable
documents--and this, indeed, is already noticeable in some of the
recent biographies. In view of this, it is particularly important
that some contemporary of Tolstoy who was particularly intimate with
him, enjoyed his full confidence and had a first-hand knowledge of
the true conditions of his home life, should leave a consecutive
exposition of all the relevant and well-authenticated facts. It is
desirable, too, that this person should not be one of Tolstoy's
relatives, and would therefore be free from all family prejudices and
predilections.
Not in virtue of any personal merits, but only owing to certain
external circumstances, I satisfy these conditions, and cannot help
feeling that fate itself lays upon me the moral duty of undertaking
such a work.
A detailed account is necessary not only for the sake of "historical
accuracy" in the biography of the great man; it is needed in the
interests of humanity in order to preserve in all its intact
wholeness the striking example of Tolstoy's life; for this life
incontestably proves the possibility of carrying out in practice the
lofty truths to which he gave verbal expression.
It would be a mistake to agree with only such truths as are
proclaimed by men who perfectly realise in the practice of their own
lives that which they preach. It is part of our nature that a man may
be clearly conscious of truths so lofty that it is beyond his power
to put them into practice. They may be practised by his
contemporaries who have more strength than he has, or by future
generations who will have attained a higher degree of moral
perfection. But it is also part of our nature that the example of a
man who realises in his own conduct, in spite of any privations and
suffering, and even at the cost of his life, that which he preaches,
always arouses the enthusiastic sympathy of others, and becomes a
powerful help and encouragement to many who strive to follow the
ideals proclaimed by such a man.
Even if in his personal life Tolstoy were inconsistent and failed to
live up to his own convictions, he would still deserve our profound
gratitude for the enormous, immeasurable impetus which, by his
intellectual work, he has given to the development of human
consciousness. But it has pleased destiny to create in the person of
Tolstoy not only a thinker of genius, but also a man of great moral
heroism. It is therefore very important to preserve the most exact
information about his personal life, especially about that side of it
which called for most self-sacrifice on his part and made him suffer
most in carrying out his principles in practice. Finally, I was led
to undertake the present work by my personal relation to Leo
Nikolaevitch. Our intimate friendship of many years' standing, my
ardent devotion and love for him in his lifetime, and now my devotion
to his memory, infinitely dear to me, my respect and reverence for
the Divine Principle which expressed itself in him with such power
and purity--all make me eager to do my utmost to preserve for men
in all its striking, untarnished brilliance the truth about the
greatness of his moral achievement. Since there are people to whom
this truth is unpleasant or damaging, and who seek to pervert or
conceal it in every way, making wild inventions about Leo
Nikolaevitch, or demanding that truth shall not be revealed, surely
it behoves his most intimate friends to champion his memory and
preserve his noble image from pollution or distortion.
Now that Leo Nikolaevitch's widow, for whose sake we have refrained
from publishing the facts, is no longer alive, it is not only
permissible for us, his friends, to come forward in his defence but,
in view of all that has happened, it is our bounden duty to tell the
truth about his life and death, so as to counteract all the slanders
that have been set going by his enemies.[3]
I have also heard another argument from persons who would have
preferred, for the sake of their vanity, that Tolstoy's family
tragedy should have remained secret. They said that Leo Nikolaevitch
himself never defended himself against those who slandered him. He
preferred to bear the censure of public opinion rather than reveal
the painful conditions of his life and allow others to be blamed
instead of himself. And therefore, they say, after his death his
friends ought to follow his example.
It is impossible to agree with this. One may well understand that Leo
Nikolaevitch concealed his sufferings. He drew strength and derived
satisfaction from the consciousness that he was living not before
men, but before God. Far from standing in need of human approbation,
he thought that unjust condemnation on the part of men was good for
him in so far as it forcibly drove him to that road upon which one
has nothing but the voice of God in one's own soul for guidance. But
does this mean that we too must say nothing about Tolstoy's heroic
life and conceal his moral rectitude now, when he is not among us?
We have not, cannot have, and ought not to have, the same motives
which in this respect influenced him. It is good for me, for my soul,
to be unjustly condemned owing to the fact that I do not want to
justify myself and am sparing the real culprit. But there is nothing
good in my being silent when another person is unjustly condemned or
slandered in my presence, while I have the means of proving his
innocence. Leo Nikolaevitch had grounds for not justifying himself
before men; but we have no grounds whatever for concealing that which
does justify him. In the present case we ought to be guided, not by
the thought of ourselves in his place if he were alive, but by the
immediate voice of our own heart and reason, which demands that we
should defend the friend whose memory is being reviled before our
eyes.
These are the reasons that have led me to undertake the biographical
work of which the present narrative of Tolstoy's going away forms, so
to speak, only one separate chapter.
All the events of cosmic life are so inextricably interwoven that,
were it possible to change in the past some one of them, even the
apparently most insignificant, it would be necessary to change at
the same time absolutely all the other concurrent and preceding
circumstances. Therefore in order to investigate fully the conditions
which have occasioned this or that event in a person's life, one
would have to consider the whole past history of mankind, both the
external and the internal or spiritual. And since it is impossible
even in thought to embrace all this infinite number of facts, it
must be admitted that it is utterly beyond our power to determine all
the causes that have produced this or that event in the life of a
particular individual.
Thus in the story of Tolstoy's "going away" which occupies us now, no
investigation, however careful, can exhaust all the outer and inner
circumstances, receding into an endless past, that have brought about
the event in question. Besides, even in the domain of Tolstoy's
personal life which admits of inquiry, the direct and indirect causes
of his "going away" are so numerous and many-sided that it is beyond
the power of a single individual to make an exhaustive enumeration of
them. The colouring given in such cases to the circumstances under
investigation and the very drift of the inquiry depend so largely
upon the personal point of view and the mood of the writer, that, try
as he may to be impartial, his selection and treatment of causes will
inevitably be more or less one-sided. Therefore in order to bring to
light the causes of Tolstoy's "going away," it is extremely important
that the greatest possible number of his contemporaries should record
and preserve for future generations the facts known to them as well
as their thoughts and reminiscences; and it is desirable, too, that
this should be done particularly by those of them who had occasion to
stand nearest to Tolstoy's personal and family life. A true history
of Tolstoy's life must be preserved in the greatest possible fullness
for future generations. His contemporaries, and in the first place
his relatives, personal friends and co-workers, ought not to neglect
this important task laid upon them by fate itself.
So far as I am concerned, I quite realise that the small beginning
which I venture to make with the present narrative is only a drop in
the sea of all the facts, observations and deductions which it would
be desirable to gather together before Tolstoy's contemporaries leave
the scene of this earthly life.[4]
In composing the present book I have tried to distinguish as sharply
as possible between: (1) facts and circumstances which I knew for
certain, and therefore have stated them without any reservations; (2)
facts and circumstances of the certainty of which I personally am
convinced, though I do not consider myself entitled to affirm them
unconditionally, and state them with some reservations; (3)
circumstances surmised by me on the ground of certain data which I
quote herewith; and (4) my personal opinions, considerations and
reflections upon the facts quoted.
Being compelled in the present narrative to be as brief as possible,
I am unable to substantiate all my assertions by documentary and
other evidence in my possession. I am therefore addressing myself
here only to such readers who can take my word for it that I give out
as facts only that which is known to me for certain, and do not
permit myself any embellishments or exaggeration. But in the other,
still unwritten, book to which I have referred, _Tolstoy's Moral
Achievement_, the subject of his family life as a whole will be
extensively treated and I shall quote my data in full.
If I often permit myself to include in the narrative my personal
valuation of the events, this is certainly not because I want to
force my own opinions on the reader instead of barely stating the
facts and letting him draw his own conclusions. I quite recognise the
advantages of a so-called objective narrative, but it was not what in
the present case I had in view. As I have mentioned already, my
purpose in writing this book was to contradict the slanders against
Leo Nikolaevitch and the misinterpretations of his conduct. I do not
doubt that the majority of my readers will consider my selection of
facts and my interpretation of them one-sided. Let, then, other
investigators of the same subject interpret the facts each from his
own point of view. The more such narratives are published, the less
risk there will be of the reader receiving a one-sided impression,
and the more free he will be to draw his own conclusions.
As to a detailed objective exposition of all the circumstances
connected with Tolstoy's "going away," I believe that, desirable as
it is, the time for it has not yet come, for the persons who possess
most information on the subject have not yet had time to publish the
numerous and varied details known to them. Let us hope that they will
not put off this task for so long that they will be dead before they
have fulfilled it. And if my present contribution will induce them
also to give out something of what they know, even if it were solely
with the object of contradicting me, I should be very glad of it, as
indeed of any corrections of my work that anyone might wish to make.
It is far better that the matter should be thoroughly thrashed out
between the eye-witnesses rather than--as often happens with the
lives of distinguished men--it should become, in future ages, the
subject of an extensive polemic literature which seldom succeeds in
getting at truth. It seems to me that only when there appear the
greatest possible number of additional communications on the same
subject shall we be able to work out, from all the accumulated
material, that really objective and trustworthy account of Tolstoy's
"going away" which is so necessary in order to give men a true idea
of the spiritual achievement of his life.
V. Tchertkoff.
_Moscow, Lefortovsky pereulok, 7.
January 1922._
FOOTNOTES
[1] Sofya Andreyevna Tolstoy, who died in November, 1919. In
Appendix II, at the end of the present volume, I explain what
attitude towards Sofya Andreyevna I adopt in the present narrative.
[2] Isabella Fyvie Mayo.
[3] In this connection I venture to quote here a small extract
from my article entitled "Should the truth about Tolstoy's going
away be told?" (published in the magazine _Tolstoy's Voice and
Unity_, N 3 (15)).
"The conditions under which Leo Nikolaevitch Tolstoy left Yasnaya
Polyana and died on the journey at a railway station were, as
everyone knows, quite exceptional. And yet, though it happened ten
years ago, mankind does not to this day know the true causes of this
event. Both in Russia and abroad the actual reasons that drove a man
like Leo Tolstoy to leave his family are unknown, and so everyone
invented his own reasons and published all sorts of fictions. Some
have maintained that Tolstoy longed to be received once more into the
Orthodox Church and wanted to save his soul in a monastery. Some
insisted that as he grew old his intellect grew so weak that he did
not know what he was doing, and, instinctively feeling the approach
of death, went off without any definite purpose. Others observed with
satisfaction that at the end of his life, at any rate, Tolstoy
succeeded in overcoming his attachment to his family and his bondage
to wealthy surroundings, and in doing what in accordance with his
convictions he ought to have done long ago. Others, on the contrary,
regretted that he had not the strength to endure the trials of his
home life to the end, and that, revolted at the behaviour of his
family, he lost his spiritual balance and failed in his duty to his
relatives. There is no enumerating all the guesses and suppositions
that were spread by people who attempted during the last ten years to
solve the riddle of Tolstoy's 'going away,' or who intentionally
perverted the truth. Quite recently in his book on Tolstoy (which has
already been translated into foreign languages), Maxim Gorky, with
his usual amazing rashness in dealing with subjects which he does not
know or fails to understand, thought it fit, by the side of other
absurdities about Tolstoy, to inform the world that Leo Nikolaevitch
left Yasnaya Polyana 'with the despotic intention of increasing the
oppressive influence of his religious ideas' and 'compelling people
to accept them,' and that he, Maxim Gorky, does not approve of such
behaviour.
"I owe it to my friend's memory to show how ill-grounded are the
accusations and the slanders with which men, misinformed as to the
circumstances of his life, or opposed to his theories, tried to
besmirch his name. I naturally want to do my utmost to reinstate in
all its beauty and purity the spiritual image of him to whom I am
indebted so much for his love and moral assistance."
[4] In connection with the Tolstoy Museum in Moscow
(Pretchistenka 11) a circle has been formed with the object, partly,
of collecting and preserving such communications. Some of them may,
with the author's consent, be published in the _Viestnik_.
PART I
WHY TOLSTOY DID NOT LEAVE HIS HOME
(_From a letter to H. Dosev, October 19, 1910_[5])
Dear Dosev,
I feel that I must protest against what you say in your last letter
in connection with Leo Nikolaevitch.
Among other things you say of him: "Nothing is worse than slavery.
And worse still is slavery to a spoilt child who has been spoilt by
oneself. But I know nothing worse in the world than being enslaved to
an irrational, self-willed woman who is convinced that her slave
husband will do whatever she chooses. Is not Sofya Andreyevna such
a woman, and is not Leo Nikolaevitch in slavery to her? His
submissiveness to Sofya Andreyevna I regard not as a virtue but as a
weakness. He makes concessions to her through fear of sinning against
love; but in doing this is he not sinning against the great love?
You know she keeps him away from his friends, from the peasants,
from humanity; she makes him live the revolting life of a wealthy
landowner. I do not reproach Leo Nikolaevitch, I do not condemn
him--I love and respect him too much. But I am sorry for him. I am
sorry for his whole life, and for his great teaching, which has not
passed in vain for himself and for those near him, but which will
pass in vain for the peasants and for humanity; for his external life
blurs all the significance and meaning of his words and thoughts in
men's eyes."
You conclude with the words: "Do not be hurt by my words. I
repeat--this is the expression not of censure, but of the pain of a
man who loves him. And so if there is something I don't see rightly,
you and all the others and Leo Nikolaevitch must forgive me. The
greatest joy of my life is my love for him and for all of you,
friends of the spirit."
Just because I believe in the sincerity of your love for Leo
Nikolaevitch, and know that he too loves you, just because of that I
feel irresistibly impelled to answer those words of yours, dear
friend. You really do not "see rightly," and are mistaken in assuming
slavishness and inconsistency in Leo Nikolaevitch. On the contrary,
he displays in his attitude to Sofya Andreyevna the greatest
freedom--freedom from anxiety about the opinion of men, and the
highest consistency--the determination to do, according to the
measure of his powers and understanding, not his own will but the
will of God. And for the sake of doing this will of God he is ready
to endure any personal sufferings of his own and any human censure
and disgrace.
You are mistaken in supposing that Leo Nikolaevitch does whatever
Sofya Andreyevna wishes. On the contrary, there is a limit beyond
which he does not give way to her. He does not give way to her when
she demands from him what is distinctly against his conscience. And
it is just because he does not give way entirely, but adheres to this
limit in his concessions--it is just through that, that he has so
much to put up with from Sofya Andreyevna.
During the last ten years of his life Leo Nikolaevitch has often
thought of leaving his wife, and has more than once been on the verge
of taking that step. It is still perfectly possible that he will take
it in the end if he becomes convinced that his remaining with his
wife is not attaining his object, but merely exciting her, and
encouraging her in her exactingness and tyranny. But to do this he
must clearly and unmistakably recognise in his conscience that he
_ought_ to leave her. That he has not hitherto left her is not at all
because it is more agreeable or more convenient to live in her house,
it is not at all through weakness of character or dread of disobeying
her; but, believe me, solely because he is not yet sufficiently
convinced that he _ought_ to go away, and does not feel that it is
God's will that he should go. For him personally it would be so much
more agreeable, peaceful and in every way convenient to go away, that
he is afraid of acting selfishly, of doing what is easier for
himself, and of refusing through cowardice to bear the trials laid
upon him.
If he did leave Yasnaya Polyana at his advanced age, and with his
infirmities, he could not now live by manual labour. Nor could he go
staff in hand about the world and fall ill and die somewhere by the
high-road, or as a passing pilgrim in a peasant's hut. He could not
do it simply from affection for those who love him, for his daughters
and the friends who are near him in heart and spirit--however
attractive such an end might be for him himself, and however
theatrically splendid it might seem to the crowd which at present
censures him. He could not without being cruel refuse to settle in
some modest abode where, without the help of servants, they could do
his housework for him, surrounding him with the affection and care
necessary at his age, giving him the opportunity of associating
without hindrance with the working people whom he loves so much, and
from whom he is at present completely cut off. Why, such a free,
quiet life would be a real paradise for him in comparison with the
prison in which he has to live now!
It will be asked why he does not accept for himself these happy
surroundings so easily within his reach, seeing that his wife has,
one would have thought, given him long ago sufficient ground for
leaving her house. Why does he not now, at least, in the decline of
his age, cast off the heavy burden which in the person of Sofya
Andreyevna he has been bearing on his shoulders for thirty years,
sometimes almost sinking under its weight? It is obvious that if he
does not do this it is not from weakness or cowardice, and it is not
from selfishness; but, on the contrary, from a feeling of duty, from
a manly determination to remain at his post to the very end,
sacrificing his preferences and his personal happiness for the sake
of doing what he considers to be the divine will.
In July, 1908, Leo Nikolaevitch passed through one of those agonising
spiritual crises, provoked by Sofya Andreyevna, which with him
nearly always ended in serious illness. So it was on this occasion.
Immediately after it he fell ill, and for some time after it was
almost at death's door. I quote a few extracts from his diary in the
days just before his illness.
"_July 2, 1908._--If I had heard of myself as an outsider--of a man
living in luxury, wringing all he can out of the peasants, locking
them up in prison, while preaching and professing Christianity and
giving away coppers, and for all his loathsome actions sheltering
himself behind his dear wife, I should not hesitate to call him a
blackguard! And that is just what I need that I may be set free from
the praises of men and live for my soul....
"_July 2, 1908._--Doubts have come into my mind whether I do right to
be silent, and even whether it would not be better for me to go away,
to disappear. I refrain from doing this principally because it would
be for _my own sake_, in order to escape from a life poisoned on
every side. I believe that the endurance of this life is needful for
me....
"_July 3, 1908._--It is still as agonising, life here in Yasnaya
Polyana is completely poisoned. Wherever I turn, it is shame and
suffering....
"_July 6, 1908._--Help me, O Lord! Again I long to go away, and I do
not make up my mind to; but do not give up the idea. The great point
is: whether I would be doing it for my own sake if I went away. That
I am not doing it for my own sake in staying I know....
"_July 9, 1908._--One thing grows more and more agonising; the
injustice of the senseless luxury in the midst of which I am living
with undeserved poverty and want all around. I feel worse and worse,
more and more wretched. I cannot forget, I cannot help seeing...."
I remember on one of these days Leo Nikolaevitch returning from a
solitary walk in the woods with that expression of joyful
inspiration which so often illumined his face of late years, and
meeting me with the words:
"I have been thinking a great deal and very deeply. And it has become
so clear to me that when one stands at the parting of the ways and
does not know how to act, one ought always to give the preference to
the decision which involves more self-sacrifice."
From all this it is evident how deeply Leo Nikolaevitch feels his
position, how passionately he longs at times to throw off his yoke
and at the same time with what sincerity and self-sacrifice he is
seeking not his own comfort, but only one thing--the clear
understanding of how he ought to act before his conscience, before
his God, to whose service he had devoted his life not in word alone
but in deed also.
After this how short-sighted, how unjust and cruel seem
utterances--especially on the lips of a loved and loving friend of
Leo Nikolaevitch's, as you are--such as that you look upon his
submission to Sofya Andreyevna not as a virtue but as a weakness.
We may suppose that in Leo Nikolaevitch's place we should act
differently, though it would be difficult for us to say whether in
so acting we should be doing better or worse than he. We cannot
understand all that is passing in his soul, and so we may be
perplexed by some of his actions. But I at least cannot help feeling
the greatest respect for the pure, self-sacrificing impulses by which
he is guided. I cannot help feeling complete confidence in him on
this question, for if anyone, sacrificing all his personal needs and
pleasures, and regardless of his suffering and privations, whatever
they may be, tries unswervingly to follow the dictates of his
conscience, he is doing all that can be expected of a human being,
and no one has the right to condemn, nor need anyone be anxious
about him. You see, for us, looking on Leo Nikolaevitch's life from
outside, it appears in reality as an external phenomenon which we can
consider according to our mood. In our moments of leisure we venture
to criticise Leo Nikolaevitch and his manner of life and to decide
on its value, as though it were far easier for us to grasp and
understand it, than it is for him. "Another man's trouble I can
handle easily, but my own is beyond my comprehension." We forget that
for us it is only a subject of criticism about which we may have
one opinion or another--a question concerning which we may on
occasion argue and bring forward the _pros_ and _cons_. But for
Leo Nikolaevitch it is a question of _conscience_, it is the very
business of his life, it is that into which he is putting all his
soul, all his understanding. What grounds have we for imagining that
we outsiders, who know ourselves to be greatly inferior to Leo
Nikolaevitch spiritually, are capable of understanding his life
better and deciding more conscientiously for him how he ought to act
than he can himself, though he is seeking guidance for his conduct
day and night before God?
Let his enemies vent their malice over his seemingly humiliating
position; let narrow-minded and short-sighted "Tolstoyans," who have
neither spiritual penetration nor the delicate intuition of the
heart, condemn him or bestow their patronising pity on him; but we,
his real friends, who are of one spirit with him, who understand by
what he is living, and are struggling towards the same goal as he,
we, dear Dosev, ought to have more faith and trust in him.
As you are aware, none of Leo Nikolaevitch's friends suffers more
from Leo Nikolaevitch's relations with Sofya Andreyevna than my wife
and I, for they deprive us of one of the greatest joys of our
life--of personal intercourse with him, the enjoyment of which was
the principal reason for our settling in this district.[6] But when I
am in a good frame of mind, all this which is painful and humiliating
vanishes before my trust in Leo Nikolaevitch, and my conviction,
which nothing will shake, that he desires nothing for himself, but is
striving for one thing only--that is, that at every given moment he
may be doing what God requires of him.
Some members of his household who are devoted to Leo Nikolaevitch
are distressed that he should give in to the farce--to them
obvious--which Sofya Andreyevna so often plays before him in order to
attain her objects, at one time agitating him by feigned attacks of
despair and frenzy, at other times touching his heart by displays of
penitence, meekness and care for his welfare which are even more
insincere, or, if at times half sincere, are at least extremely
transitory. But it seems to me that if, through the wonderful purity
of his own heart, Leo Nikolaevitch is incapable of seeing Sofya
Andreyevna as she really is, and with touching trustfulness seizes
upon every justification for recognising in her the smallest signs of
an awakening conscience, then, though he may be mistaken in it, the
tender emotion and joy which he feels on such occasions are perfectly
legitimate, because they arise from his great love and readiness to
forgive everything. It is doubtful whether her success in pretending
is good for Sofya Andreyevna herself. But who knows, perhaps this
wonderful faith in her soul on the part of Leo Nikolaevitch, which
nothing can shake, his continual expectation, his premature,
eager anticipation of the spiritual awakening in her which he so
whole-heartedly desires, will in due time have its effect upon Sofya
Andreyevna. Perhaps such an attitude to her on the part of the man
whom she has so mercilessly tortured for so many years, and who
nevertheless is of all people the only one who has sincerely loved
her, and loved her to the end, will one day be reflected in her soul.
The memory of this in its due time, for instance, when she will
become conscious of the nearness of her own death, when all worldly
plans, aims and desires inevitably retreat into the background, is
the one thing that may be capable of awakening in that unhappy woman
the divine spark, the possibility of which we have no right to deny
in any human being. And if this is possible, is it surprising that
Leo Nikolaevitch, entirely given up to the service of the divine love
as he is, should untiringly attempt to melt with his love the heart
of the partner of his life whom he once drew to himself, with whom he
shared his past sinful life, and with whom he would also wish to save
his soul?
And indeed as a rule, dear Dosev, I am deeply convinced that no one
of us can decide for another, nor determine in regard to another
man's behaviour what is his weakness and what is his virtue. "Before
his God," as it is written in the gospel, "every one of us shall
stand or fall." It is not for us human beings to meddle in the secret
region of another man's soul with our short-sighted criticisms, our
frivolous verdicts and our mistaken condolences.
And however Leo Nikolaevitch may act in the future--whether he
remains to the end beside his wife, or whether at some time he finds
it necessary for her benefit to go away from her--I am convinced of
one thing: that in that matter he will really act only as his
conscience bids him, and therefore he will act rightly.
Why, if Leo Nikolaevitch's wife were drowning and, plunging into the
water to save her, he perished himself, nobody would reproach him for
having sacrificed his friends and humanity for the sake of excessive
family attachments. It is even more impossible to reproach him for
devoting his life, sacrificing its joys and repose, and perhaps even
giving it up altogether, for the sake of saving his wife from the
ruin of her soul.
It ought not to be forgotten also that at the same time Leo
Nikolaevitch always contrives in the most attentive and sensitive way
to respond to every real need, spiritual or material, of the whole
people and of all mankind, devoting his whole working time to intense
spiritual labour in the interests of the working masses, and of all
suffering mankind, whether the suffering be from external or internal
evil.
As for your idea that for the simple people and for humanity "all his
life and great teaching will pass in vain, because his external life
blurs all the significance and meaning of his words and thoughts in
men's eyes," on this too, I assure you, you are profoundly mistaken.
His words cannot pass in vain for humanity if only from the fact that
they do not express something of "his own" with which only those who
"follow him" can agree, but express the best that there is in the
heart of every man. And from that very fact what Tolstoy says in his
writings finds, apart from any relation to his own personal life, a
direct and loving response in the heart and consciousness of all men
whose conscience has not been blunted. And as time passes this
response will only become clearer and more distinct.
When the true conditions of the domestic life of Leo Nikolaevitch
become generally known, the great heroism of his family life,
reproducing in deed what he expressed in words, will be added to the
direct persuasive force of his words in the eyes of humanity.
"Going to the people," to prison, torture, the cross, the stake, the
scaffold--all these have been already. And however deserving of the
deepest respect are the men who face these for conscience' sake, yet
if it is a question of a living example, we, people of the present
day, needed an example of yet another kind.
Men go willingly to the scaffold even from a desire to blow their
neighbour into the air. Men become cripples for life or are killed
for the sake of beating a record with a motor-car or an aeroplane.
All this is striking and sensational, but already no one is surprised
by it. But it is quite a different matter to spend several decades
with such a wife as Sofya Andreyevna without running away from her,
and still preserving in his heart pity and love for her, and this to
the accompaniment of the unceasing mockery of his enemies and
misunderstanding and censure from the majority of his friends--so
to live from day to day, from year to year, not seeing and not
foreseeing any escape but his own death; to endure, in doing so, all
that Leo Nikolaevitch has to endure, being periodically made ill by
it and almost dying, and not only to have not the smallest blame or
bitterness in his heart, but, on the contrary, to be always blaming
himself for lack of patience and love--this really is the highest
consistency on the part of Leo Nikolaevitch. This is a testimony of
the truthfulness of his theory of life than which nothing stronger
and more striking could be imagined. This is just the example that
humanity is in need of in our day, and this example Leo Nikolaevitch
is giving us in his life.
When one looks at the matter from this point of view it becomes so
clear as to be obvious why Leo Nikolaevitch had to have just such a
wife as was vouchsafed to him. "For a great ship a great journey." He
who delivered the message of love in its absolutely unlimited sense
needed to have the possibility in his life of proving in action that
a love that nothing in the world could destroy was really attainable
for man. And in due time, when the truth about Leo Nikolaevitch's
life becomes common property, men will be infinitely grateful to him
for this joyous confirmation of the possibility of following in
practice the godly theory of life of which Tolstoy is the exponent in
his writings.
FOOTNOTES
[5] Ten days before Leo Nikolaevitch went away from Yasnaya
Polyana this letter was written by me to Christo Dosev, the common
friend of Tolstoy and myself, who migrated to Russia from Bulgaria
and died in the year 1919. I quote my letter word for word to
preserve its direct character. I ought to mention that a few years
after Tolstoy's death Dosev told me that he recognised how mistaken
was the censure of Tolstoy to which he had given expression in the
letter which called forth this answer from me.
[6] This letter was written at the time when, though living
only a few versts from Yasnaya Polyana, I was forcibly separated from
Leo Nikolaevitch. This separation, which lasted for about three
months, was due to the hostile attitude towards me of his wife, whose
excited condition he hoped to soothe by the promise not to see me.
PART II
WHY TOLSTOY WENT AWAY
CHAPTER I
LIFE AT YASNAYA POLYANA
A few days after the foregoing letter was written Leo Nikolaevitch
left Yasnaya Polyana.
At first sight it may seem that if he did well in remaining so long
with his wife, he ought not to have abandoned her in the end; or, on
the contrary, if he was right in going away, it was a mistake not to
have done so sooner.
That is how many do reason. Some--the majority--commend him for his
departure, considering that thereby he "atoned" for his supposed
weakness and inconsistency in the past. Others--a small
minority--commend him, on the contrary, for remaining so many years
with his wife, but consider his going away a proof of his
inconsistency.[7]
It seems to me that in any case Leo Nikolaevitch's friends who were
able to estimate at its true value the self-sacrifice with which he
remained a voluntary prisoner in his wife's house for so many years
ought, more than anyone, to have that confidence in him of which he
was worthy. They might at least be confident that if, after all this,
he did decide to go away, he must have had good grounds for doing so;
especially since such an explanation is far more natural and credible
than the supposition that Leo Nikolaevitch, who had so successfully
endured this prolonged ordeal and had displayed such striking
stoicism and self-sacrifice, on the eve of his death suddenly, for
some reason, broke down and was false to his conscience.
In regard to the question of whether he was to remain with his wife
or go away, Leo Nikolaevitch was guided not by any one impulse, but
by many, and often contradictory, impulses.
On the side of not leaving his wife he had various considerations
which are touched on in my letter to Dosev. The chief of them was his
consciousness that in remaining he was fulfilling the demands of love
in regard to Sofya Andreyevna, and was trying to do her good, while
he was performing an act of self-sacrifice for the benefit of his own
soul.
He had also, in the course of the last thirty years of his life, many
grounds for going away; and though, until the time was ripe, they
could not outweigh those that kept him with his family, yet in
themselves they were very weighty.
On one side he was painfully conscious--and ever more painfully as
time went on--of all the injustice, all the sinfulness of the
surroundings of his home life, which were those of a rich landowner
in the midst of the poverty around him, and he never forgave himself
for his participation in those surroundings. Some months before his
death he wrote, as is well known, in the introduction to his novel,
_There are No Guilty in the World_: "The complicated conditions of
the past, my family and its demands, have not let me out of their
clutches"; and, at once, with the fear of self-justification
characteristic of him, hastened to add "or rather I had not the
ability nor strength to free myself from them." But recognising at
that time the hopelessness of his position, Leo Nikolaevitch found a
good side in the fact that it was so painful to him. "Being without
any desire for self-justification, or any fear of the liberated
peasants, and also without the peasants' envy and bitterness against
their oppressors, I am in the most favourable position for seeing the
truth and being able to tell it. Perhaps it was just for this that I
have been placed by fate in this strange position. I will try, as far
as I know how, to take advantage of it. This at least to some extent,
anyway, alleviates my condition."
On the other hand, he was at times much distressed by the
consciousness of the false position in which he was placed before
men, and before the peasants especially, by the external conditions
of his life, which were so directly opposed to his convictions. He
was well aware that the majority of people condemned him for taking
part in that life. But he was resigned even to that, finding a
spiritual blessing in his humiliation before men. In his _Circle of
Reading_[8] he said: "What is called religious folly, _i.e._ conduct
which provokes censure and attack, is intelligible and desirable as
the sole proof of one's love for God and one's neighbour." "The
condemnation by man of your actions," he says in a private letter,
"if your actions are not due to selfish motives, but to doing the
will of God, is far from requiring you to justify them; on the
contrary, this condemnation is a benefit, in that it gives you
certain conviction that you do what you are doing not for the praise
of men, but for the sake of your soul, for God."[9]
But above all Leo Nikolaevitch had to suffer directly from his wife's
antagonism and disagreement with regard to what was for him more
precious than anything. This hostility on the part of his wife often
reached the point of unconcealed hatred of him, making him at times
despair of the possibility of softening her heart at all. As years
went on the spiritual rift between them became complete. Leo
Nikolaevitch had periods of such doubt and depression of spirit that
he felt quite hopeless, and was ready to run away from home. One of
these periods I have referred to above, but even at the beginning of
the 'eighties Leo Nikolaevitch had moments when he could scarcely
restrain himself from going away.
It was so, for instance, in the summer of the year 1884. In his diary
of that time we find such entries: "If only I could have confidence
in myself.... I cannot go on with this savage life. Even for them"
(the members of his family) "it would be a benefit. They will
reconsider things if they have anything like a heart.... I said
nothing, but I felt horribly depressed. I went away, and meant to go
away altogether, but her being with child made me turn back half way
to Tula.... It was horribly painful.... It was a mistake not to go
away. I think it will be bound to happen sooner or later."[10]
After 1884, as Leo Nikolaevitch's spiritual forces developed further
and gained strength, he did succeed to some extent in bearing
patiently the insults and suffering inflicted upon him, and learnt to
resign himself to the painfulness of his position, extracting gain
for his inner life from all that he endured. But how hard it still
was for him may be seen, for instance, from the confession that broke
from him in conversation with a friend of his, the peasant M. P.
Novikov, when the latter visited him on the 21st October, 1910: "I
have never concealed from you that in this house I am boiling as in
hell, and I have always dreamed of going away, and longed to go
somewhere into the forest to a keeper's hut, or to a village to some
lonely peasant's hut, where we could help one another. But God has
not given me the strength to break away from my family. My weakness
is perhaps a sin, but I could not for the sake of my personal
satisfaction make others suffer, even although they are members of my
family...."
During this time everything that was painful in Leo Nikolaevitch's
relations with Sofya Andreyevna, and which had grown with the
decades, began to develop with increased rapidity. In this brief but
terribly concentrated period of his life much which his goodwill
towards her had prevented him from observing in Sofya Andreyevna
before began to be apparent to him. At first it was very difficult
for him to see his way in his complicated position and among all the
varied feelings and impulses which rose up in his soul. He had not
only to bear his old, long familiar cross, but also to deal with new,
quite unforeseen trials before he had time to see clearly what
attitude he ought to take up to them.
These exceptionally complicated conditions must be kept in view in
order to follow Leo Nikolaevitch's spiritual experiences of that
period with any degree of accuracy. It was difficult for him to
understand his own state of mind, and he exercised the greatest
circumspection in order not to act prematurely nor precipitately. It
is all the more necessary for us to be extremely circumspect in
examining the various spiritual states which followed each other and
were interwoven in him at that time. It is impossible to approach the
very complicated workings of his soul with ready-made theories, or to
offer a rough-and-ready explanation of Leo Nikolaevitch's behaviour
on the lines of one's personal bias--whether domestic, religious,
social, or otherwise; and least of all can one be guided by
information or argument coming from his domestic circle, whose vanity
was so deeply wounded by his departure. In order really to understand
Tolstoy and his behaviour in this most important period of his life,
it is above all needful to free oneself from the slightest
partiality, narrowness and one-sidedness, to be ready to look the
truth in the face and as far as possible to weigh attentively all the
conditions and circumstances, not taken separately, but in
combination and in all their complex interaction.
FOOTNOTES
[7] I have come across references to my letter to Dosev as
though it proved that, for all my devotion to Leo Nikolaevitch, I
considered that he ought not to have left his wife. But there is
nothing of the sort in my letter, the main drift of which is merely
that no one has the right to set himself up as a judge of Leo
Nikolaevitch in the matter. I indicated in detail how sound were the
reasons impelling him to remain in Yasnaya Polyana while he did
remain there; but at the same time, in the very same letter, though
it was written before Leo Nikolaevitch went away, I made several
allusions to the possibility that in the end he would think it
necessary to go.
[8] _Circle of Reading_, May 17.
[9] 1907.
[10] June 17-24, 1884.