Leo Tolstoy - Conversations with Leo Tolstoy: In His Own Words

Conversations with
Leo Tolstoy

Simon Parke

Conversations with Leo Tolstoy

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Religion & Spirituality

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Preface

The conversation presented here is imagined; but Tolstoys words are not. All of Tolstoys words included here are his own, taken from his voluminous writings.

The only alteration to his original words has been the occasional addition of a link word to help the flow. In the same cause, and for the sake of clarity, I have sometimes shortened sentences. He sometimes wrote such long and complex sentences, with numerous sub-clauses, that the casual reader is in danger of losing the thrust of the argument.

But such rare amendments never alter his meaning. After all, to discover his meaning is the reason for this adventure; so these are his passions, and his words. Yes, even the bit about him being a dirty, libidinous old man

Introduction

Had I known what was on Tolstoys mind as we talked, maybe I would have approached things differently; hindsight is not always a friend. But the facts are these: shortly after I saw him, he walked out on his family home of 82 years. In the early hours of October 28th 1910, under the shroud of both secrecy and darkness, he slipped away and into the night.

His first call was to visit his sister Marya his last remaining sibling, and a nun at Sharmandino. What was his plan beyond this encounter? Some believe it was to live as religious recluse; but no one can know for sure, because he died of pneumonia on the station at Astapovo a few days later.

But this all lay in the future as my carriage approached his family estate at Yasnaya Polyana. The long and rutted drive, with trees either side, led us to the famous turret entrance, and then the house itself a two-storey wooden building, painted white, and smaller than I imagined. Certainly not as grand as English country house; though my first memory on getting out of the coach was of family and visitors taking tea on the lawn; and all speaking English!

I was taken indoors; through the book-lined entrance hall, and then upstairs to the guest room to unpack. After this, I joined them on the lawn, waiting for the arrival of Tolstoy, who, I was told, would be joining us shortly. What did I expect?

When most think of Tolstoy, they think of the great author. War and Peace and Anna Karenina had brought him worldwide fame, universal admiration, and a good deal of money. Had he done nothing else in life, these two novels would have ensured him status and respect. Few others had written both a national epic, and a great love story; and some might have been content with that. For the last thirty years, however, Tolstoys life has walked a different track. Since his spiritual crisis, when he was 50, he has exchanged the authors clothes for those of a prophet, and through his endless writing, has become the scourge of the rich, the Church and the Government. Neither has he missed an opportunity to denounce both science and art. Darwin? Dostoyevsky? Shakespeare? No one was to be left standing.

So who am I to meet literary giant or savaging prophet? And is what I hear about his unhappy home life true? Things all look very peaceful here on the lawn.

And then Tolstoy emerges from the bushes, scythe in hand, sweat on his brow; and looking every inch a labourer. He has a long white beard; and wears a cap and peasant shirt, with a black belt around it. He is a shrunken figure, about 5 foot 4 inches tall. He wears a sun hat, which I became familiar with over the next few days. He would always wear it when walking in the fields. As he removes it to sit with us, I became aware of his large forehead, and thick eye brows over-hanging stern eyes.

Why am I here? He had surprisingly agreed to give some time over the next few days to talk about his life and beliefs. In many ways, it was remarkable he was still a free man, after the things hed said about the government. But then we must remember that his full title is Count Leo Tolstoy; and privilege of birth had given him protection when criticizing government protection that his contemporary Dostoyevsky did not receive.

For the last two decades, Tolstoys has been the only voice in Russia which the government dared not muzzle; leaving him free to denounce a long list of perceived evils. His targets were many: the cruelty of army; the stupidity of the powerful; the unlawfulness of war; the inequality of social hierarchy; the self-indulgent behaviour of the upper classes; the oppression of poor; the immorality of the death penalty; the inadequacies of other writers; the illegality of the law courts; the demon drink and the sin of meat-eating; the evil of the church; the decline of science and art and the criminality of the censors.

His solutions to these problems lay in non-violence, God, self-control and reason.

So yes War and Peace and Anna Karenina may have been towering achievements. But for many, Tolstoy was now a revolutionary rather than a writer; a symbol of dissent against a government which allowed no dissent; a white knight of liberty against the dead hand of bureaucratic control. Strange to say, people now loved him more for what he stood for, than for what he had written.

But what did he stand for? And more important still who was he? Such things I hoped to discover in my conversations with Leo Tolstoy.

One

Early Days

Even as an old man, Leo Tolstoy is a towering moral presence. Many had found this to be so, even if they did not agree with him. And that is my experience now, as we sit in his book-lined study, on my first morning. I have in mind the words of the artist Repin, whom I met briefly yesterday as he was leaving. He had often painted Tolstoy, and said this about him: Often a day or two after a conversation with him, when your mind begins to function independently, you find that you cannot agree with his views; and that some of his thoughts, which seemed at the time incontrovertible, now appear improbable.

Would this be my experience?

SP: Your youth was a long time ago now, sir; but it is where most people start. So how do you remember your youth?

LT: At some future time I may relate the story of my life, and dwell in detail on the pathetic and instructive incidents of my youth.

SP: Your mother died when you were two, and you say that despite trying, you can gain no picture of her. But your father? I know he was often away with the pursuit of law suits; and keen also on hunting and shooting. But you were nine when he died, so there must be some memory there.

LT: I remember him in his study, when we went to say good night, or sometimes simply to play, where he sat on the leather divan, smoking a pipe, and caressed us, and sometimes to our great joy let us climb onto the back of the divan while he either continued to read, or talked to the clerks standing at the door, or to my godfather who often stayed with us.

SP: And of course you had three elder brothers and a sister; though only Marya is still alive now.

Tolstoy n ods.

SP: And your eldest brother, Nikolay, invented an important game for you all, did he not?