CW
Leo Tolstoy, Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, 90 vols (Moscow, 1928–64)
Ds
Tolstoy’s Diaries, trans. R. F. Christian (London, 1994)
Kuz
Tatiana Kuzminskaya, Moia zhizn’ doma i v Yasnoi Polyane (Tula, 1973)
LNT & AAT
L. N. Tolstoy i A. A. Tolstaya: Perepiska, 1857–1903 (Moscow, 2011)
Ls
Tolstoy’s Letters, ed. and trans. R. F. Christian, 2 vols (New York, 1978)
Mak
Dushan Makovitsky, ‘U Tolstogo, 1904–1910: Yasnopolianskie zapiski’, Literaturnoe nasledstvo, xc/1–4 (1979)
SAT-Ds
Sofia Tolstaya, Dnevniki, 2 vols (Moscow, 1978)
SAT-ML
Sofia Tolstaya, Moia zhizn’, 2 vols (Moscow, 2011)
TP
Leo Tolstoy, Perepiska s russkimi pisateliami, ed. S. Rozanova, 2 vols (Moscow, 1978)
TSF
Tolstoy’s Short Fiction, trans. Michael Kats (London and New York, 2008)
WP
Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace, trans. George Gibian (London and New York, 1996).
1
An Ambitious Orphan
In May 1878, finishing Anna Karenina and in the early stages of the deepest spiritual crisis he had ever experienced, Tolstoy started drafting his memoirs, which he provisionally called My Life. In one day he wrote several disjointed fragments describing his impressions of certain events from his childhood. He did not complete his memoirs and never returned to these fragments, the first of which was as follows:
Here are my first recollections. I am bound up, I want to free my hands and I cannot do it. I shout and weep and my cries are unpleasant to me, but I cannot stop. There were people bent over me, I do not remember who they were, and it all happened in semi-darkness, but I do remember that there were two of them, they are worried by my cries, but do not unbind me, which I want them to do, and therefore I cry even louder. It seems that for them it is necessary [that I must be bound up], while I know that it is not necessary, and I want to prove it to them and I indulge in crying that repels me, but which is uncontainable. I feel the injustice and cruelty not of people, because they pity me, but of fate and pity for myself. I do not know and shall never know what this was about . . . but it is certain that this was the first and the most powerful impression of my life. And what is memorable is not my cries, or my suffering, but the complex, contradictory nature of the impression. I want freedom, it won’t harm anyone and yet they keep torturing me. They pity me and they tie me up, and I, who needs everything, am weak and they are strong. (CW, XXIII, pp. 469–70)
This episode does not provide material for psychoanalytic speculation. Tolstoy’s ‘first and most powerful impression’ was not extracted from the depths of his subconscious on an analyst’s couch. It is a conscious (re)construction carried out by a fifty-year-old writer. Tolstoy describes himself as a baby, but ‘remembers’ the subtlety and complexity of his lived experience, and the most powerful part of this experience is the feeling of being bound up and unfree. Tolstoy pays special attention to the love and pity shown by the adults towards him, describing their attitude as a kind of cruelty born of care. The infant Tolstoy strives to free himself from this well-intentioned despotism, but is too weak to overcome the power of those who show their concern by not allowing him to move. This struggle was to permeate the author’s entire life right up until his final moments.
A conventional biography usually starts with the family origins of its subject. In the case of Leo (Lev Nikolaevich) Tolstoy, this is both essential and redundant. It is redundant because one of Tolstoy’s greatest novels, War and Peace, provides such a powerful and memorable description of the writer’s ancestors that any reality is bound to pale in comparison. It is essential because Tolstoy’s family history informs the novel and in many ways defines his biography. In what is a hallmark of his writing, Tolstoy blurs the line between fiction and ‘real life’ by marginally changing the names of the characters. Thus the Volkonskys, the real family name of Tolstoy’s mother, transform into the Bolkonskys. The Volkonskys were one of the most aristocratic families of the land, stemming from the ninth-century Varangian prince Rurik, semi-legendary founder of Russian statehood. The wordplay on Tolstoy’s paternal family name is a bit more complex. In an early draft of War and Peace it appears as Tolstov and in later drafts changed into Prostov (‘The Simple one’ in Russian), but this name smacked too much of an eighteenth-century moralistic comedy. By omitting the first letter, Tolstoy arrived at Rostov, a surname sounding like the ancient Russian town, thus underlining the national roots of the family. This change notwithstanding, simplicity remains a fundamental feature of the Rostovs’ way of life in the novel.
Tolstoy in 1878–9.
To a modern reader, the title of count sits oddly with simple habits and democratic origin. However, this title had been awarded to Russian nobles only since the beginning of the eighteenth century and thus pointed to a relatively short family history. In fact, the marriage between Tolstoy’s parents – and the novel’s principal characters – was a misalliance: Princess Maria Volkonsky was a rich heiress; her husband, Count Nikolai Tolstoy, was on the brink of ruin, thanks to his father’s profligate lifestyle. She married at the age of 32, in 1822, a year after the death of her father. By the standards of her time she was already a spinster and, according to Tolstoy, ‘not good looking’. Her husband was four years her junior. In the novel Tolstoy does not conceal the practical reasons behind the marriage but these do not obscure the mutual love in a marriage made in Heaven. We don’t know whether the family life of Tolstoy’s parents resembled the blissful union portrayed in the Epilogue to War and Peace. Even if Tolstoy’s father’s reputation as a womanizer is unfair, we know that he spent most of the time away from home settling endless legal disputes in court or hunting in nearby forests. His wife, meanwhile, had built a special gazebo in the park where she would wait for her missing husband.
For Tolstoy, writing in his unfinished memoirs, his mother was a perfect wife who did not actually love her husband. Her heart fully belonged to her children, especially the eldest, Nikolai, and Leo, her fourth and youngest son. Born on 28 August 1828, Leo was barely two years old when his mother died a few months after the birth of her only daughter Maria.
This early loss had a profound impact on Tolstoy. He worshipped the memory of his mother and made a point of spending time in her favourite corner of the family garden. He would later insist that his wife deliver their children on the same sofa on which he was born and, most importantly, forever longed for the maternal love of which he had been deprived. Tolstoy could not remember his mother and was glad that no portraits of her were preserved by the family, except for a miniature silhouette cut from black paper. His ideal spiritual image of the person he loved most would thus remain untainted by material artefacts. Fighting temptations ‘in the middle period of his life’, Tolstoy recalled that he prayed to the soul of his mother and the prayers always helped.