In the same letter in which he discussed Resurrection, Chekhov expressed his attitude to the author:
I am afraid of Tolstoy’s death. If he were to die, there would be a big empty place in my life. To begin with, because I have never loved any man as much as him. I am not a believing man, but of all beliefs, I consider his the nearest and most akin to mine. Secondly, while Tolstoy is in literature, it is easy and pleasant to be a literary man; even recognizing that one has done nothing and never will do anything is not so dreadful, since Tolstoy will do enough for all of us. His work is the justification for the enthusiasms and expectations built up around literature. Thirdly, Tolstoy takes a firm stand, he has an immense authority, and so long as he is alive, bad taste in literature, vulgarity of every kind, insolent and lachrymose, all the bristling, exasperated vanities will remain in the far background, in the shade. Nothing but his moral authority is capable of maintaining a certain elevation in the so-called mood and tendencies of literature. (Ch-Ls, IX, pp. 29–31)
Chekhov died in 1904, six years before Tolstoy, and this letter was published in 1908. The elder writer, who had just turned eighty, was moved to tears: ‘I never knew he loved me so much’ (Mak, III, 39). He loved Chekhov as well, but could never establish with him any kind of kinship and suspected him of emotional coldness. In a similar way, Tolstoy believed that the artistic perfection of Chekhov’s prose surpassed anything that previous writers, including Turgenev, Dostoevsky and himself, had been able to achieve, but he deplored Chekhov’s lack of religious beliefs and serious moral purpose. There was, however, one exception.
‘The Darling’ is written with the laconic precision typical of the late Chekhov. Over a few pages he traces the entire life of a woman, Olga, who is first married to a theatre impresario, then to a timber merchant, after whose death she begins to cohabit with a vet who is separated from his wife and son. All her partners are described as hopelessly boring, but each time Olga is completely reborn, becoming first an ardent fan of the dramatic arts, then a respectable housewife with a deep understanding of the subtleties of the timber trade, and then a passionate animal lover. Finally she finds consolation in an attachment to the vet’s son and becomes interested only in classical education and homework. Never in her life can she develop her own interests or opinions, borrowing instead from those she loves.
Tolstoy was not deaf to Chekhov’s sarcastic detachment. He enjoyed reading the story aloud, laughing himself and making everyone around him laugh. Many memoirists recall that he was never successful in reading his own prose, but performed the works of the authors he loved brilliantly and that he especially enjoyed comic literature. However, whenever he read ‘The Darling’ to family members and friends he invariably ended up in tears. He had found in Chekhov’s Olga the female ideal he longed for – a woman incapable of self-assertion who would willingly merge with him in one spiritual being. Later Tolstoy made a point of including the story whole in his Cycle of Reading, a personal commonplace book in which he tried to collect the best achievements of spiritual wisdom and moral beauty. In an afterword Tolstoy explained that, in his view, Chekhov had intended to condemn the ‘Darling’, Olga, but
a god of poetry forbade him to do it and ordered that she be blessed, and he did bless her by involuntarily covering that sympathetic creature in such a miraculous light that it will forever remain an example of what a woman may be to be happy herself, and make happy those with whom fate had united her. (CW, XLI, p. 377)
For all he admired Chekhov’s short stories, Tolstoy could never reconcile himself to the plays, which, from Tolstoy’s point of view, lacked coherent plots and dramatic situations. Chekhov loved to tell his friends that Tolstoy had once said to him: ‘I cannot abide Shakespeare, but your plays are even worse.’ Worried that his interlocutor was offended by his bluntness, Tolstoy took his hand, looked into his eyes and said, ‘Anton Pavlovich, you are a fine man,’ and then smiled and added, ‘But your plays are still bad.’11
Chekhov believed that Tolstoy’s frequent praise for his contemporaries always carried a whiff of condescension and Shakespeare was the only author whom he regarded as a worthy rival. At least, Shakespeare was the only writer Tolstoy chose to refute in a special essay that offered a devastating analysis of King Lear, singling out psychological improbabilities, the incoherent plot, bombastic language and the dubious morality of the tragedy.
Drama always fascinated Tolstoy, but it was only in 1886 that he was able to make serious progress on a dramatic project. The Power of Darkness, his first major play, shows that Tolstoy did not idealize peasant life. The plot, based on an actual criminal case, included adultery, murder, infanticide and the spectacular public repentance of the murderer, which was vaguely reminiscent of Crime and Punishment.
Alexander III initially approved the tragedy, but was later convinced by Pobedonostsev to change his mind and ban stage performances. The Power of Darkness was first performed in Paris, followed by productions in nearly a dozen major European cities. The first professional production of the play in Russia did not take place until 1902, when Konstantin Stanislavsky directed and played the main role at the Moscow Art Theatre. Eleven years earlier Stanislavsky had already directed an amateur performance of Tolstoy’s comedy The Fruits of Enlightenment, which ridiculed the spiritualism that was fashionable in Russian society in the second half of the nineteenth century.
The two most important of Tolstoy’s dramatic works did not appear on stage or in print during his lifetime. He started both in the 1890s, then put them aside to concentrate on Resurrection. He resumed work on them in 1900, probably influenced by the first production of Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya, which he had seen that January at the Moscow Art Theatre. Tolstoy had left the theatre disappointed and certain that he could produce a more successful dramatic work of art. He nearly completed both dramas, but never tried to publish or stage either of them. The Living Corpse, the most theatrically successful of Tolstoy’s plays, was published in the posthumous edition in 1911 and performed the same year at the Moscow Art Theatre, co-directed by Stanislavsky and Vladimir Nemirovich-Danchenko.
The main character of the play, Fyodor Protasov, ruins his family by squandering money on Gypsy singers. To free his wife and let her remarry a decent and loving suitor, he fakes his own suicide and disappears. This deceit is uncovered and both spouses are put on trial, Fyodor for fraud and his former wife Liza for bigamy. Eager to cut the knot that ties them both together and, no less importantly, understanding that the court’s verdict will return him to his family, Fyodor actually kills himself.
Like The Kreutzer Sonata, The Power of Darkness and Resurrection, The Living Corpse was based on a real court case. Stories of crime and punishment fascinated Tolstoy no less than Dostoevsky, especially after the death of the latter. However, the plot of this play suspiciously resembled that of Chernyshevsky’s What Is to Be Done?, in which one of the characters performs the same trick and is rewarded with complete success. Having always regarded divorce as being tantamount to adultery, Tolstoy found Chernyshevsky’s novel deeply immoral. Nevertheless, Tolstoy’s sympathy with Protasov’s desire to free himself from family bonds is evident and Liza is portrayed as a kind and loving woman who is reasonably happy in her second marriage.