The Empire Must Die

Chapter 1

A NEW CENTURY

On 24 February 1901 the Church Gazette, the official magazine of the prerevolutionary Russian Orthodox Church, publishes the text of an edict issued by the Holy Synod on the excommunication of the renowned Russian writer Leo Tolstoy. It is the church’s first excommunication in more than one hundred years, the turbulence of the previous century notwithstanding. But Tolstoy is a special case.

Petersburg society, which considers itself the epitome of modernity, is shocked by such archaism. “It must be the first time such news has been conveyed by telegraph,” quips Tolstoy’s friend, the journalist and writer Vladimir Korolenko. “Excommunication by telegraph is indeed a paradoxical start to the new century.”

The next day, 25 February, papers across the Russian Empire reprint the article in the Church Gazette, from which Tolstoy learns that he is now officially persona non grata. He is in Moscow at the time, on his estate at Khamovniki. According to his wife, Sofia Andreyevna, Count Tolstoy is deeply upset, and the whole family is at a loss: what next?

For many years Tolstoy has lived not so much outside the law as beyond it. His books have been banned, and people imprisoned and exiled for printing and distributing them. Tolstoy’s closest friend and loyal follower, the publisher Vladimir Chertkov, has been expelled from Russia. Yet the persecution has not yet extended to Tolstoy personally, perhaps because the writer is now seventy-two years old.

Formally, the Russian Orthodox Church is not separate from the state, which means that a lapse of faith is a crime punishable under secular laws, including exile or imprisonment. For the past two decades, rumors have circulated that the writer could be dispatched to the Suzdal Monastery, effectively a prison for religious offenders, including a number of Old Believers—members of the Russian Orthodox Church who refused to accept the liturgical reforms of Patriarch Nikon in 1653. But so far Tolstoy has remained at liberty. Will the new edict change that?

Tolstoy used to enjoy the patronage of Emperor Alexander III, who loved to read the writer’s early works in childhood. But the tsar passed away seven years ago, in 1894, at the tender age of fifty. Still very much alive, however, is the tsar’s former tutor and éminence grise, Konstantin Petrovich Pobedonostsev, who is Tolstoy’s peer (just one year older) and sworn enemy. Pobedonostsev also tutored Nicholas II and retains a grandfatherly influence over the new emperor.

On learning of the Holy Synod’s decree, Tolstoy goes into town, where there is public unrest. It has nothing to do with his excommunication: student rioting began in Moscow and Saint Petersburg in 1899 when a university rector ordered that the most politically active students should be conscripted. Battles have been raging in Russia’s two capitals ever since, and February 1901 has seen a new surge. Tolstoy arrives at Lubyanka Square in central Moscow^* and gets mixed up in a brawl between students and police. News of his excommunication has already spread through the city, and the writer is recognized by the students. In between throwing punches, they give him an ovation.

But not everyone is supportive. “Look, it’s the devil in human form,” someone shouts at Tolstoy on Lubyanka Square. “The mood of the crowd was split between adoration and loathing. Tolstoy hailed a cab and quickly drove off,” is how police officer Alexander Spiridovich later describes the scene. “If there hadn’t been so many students, I could have been beaten up,” recalls the writer himself.

Waiting for him back at the house are letters from total strangers. On opening them, he realizes that the persecution has begun: “You will die like a dog and rot in hell!”, “If the government doesn’t get rid of you, we will,” and “I’ll come and get you, you scum” are some of the more polite sentiments. “Even face-to-face some people expressed similar animosity,” writes Tolstoy.

Not all the messages are hostile, but Tolstoy does not note them in his diary.

The Ministry of Interior prohibits all discussion of the Holy Synod’s edict, and the ensuing lull generates plenty of rumor and speculation. Vladimir Chertkov, exiled in England, is frantic with worry about stories of Tolstoy’s arrest and showers his friend with telegrams. Pobedonostsev watches for the hateful (in his eyes) intelligentsia to react to the Holy Synod’s decision, despite the fact that officially all publications on this topic are forbidden by the censor. Even Emperor Nicholas II is perturbed by the hullabaloo surrounding Tolstoy, for he does not like scandals. He summons the ageing Pobedonostsev and asks indignantly why he was not consulted before the decision was taken to excommunicate Tolstoy. Pobedonostsev, whose official title is ober-procurator of the Holy Synod (essentially, “minister of the church”) smiles in reply: “What do you mean? I came and showed you the text. You just weren’t paying attention.”

Pobedonostsev, the personal tutor of two emperors, has a low opinion of Nicholas II. He often recalls how the young tsar would stand there picking his nose while being advised about state business.

AN OLD PROPHET

The now-excommunicated Leo Tolstoy’s position in Russia is undoubtedly remarkable. At the age of seventy-two he is one of the most famous people in Russia, yet for the past twenty years he has been at war with the state.

Step back to 1880, and Tolstoy is to be found about to undergo a spiritual revolution. “My father’s Orthodox faith ended quite unexpectedly,” describes Tolstoy’s son, Ilya. “It was Lent. A special meal was prepared for my father and others who were fasting, while the young children, governesses and tutors were served meat. A servant had just put the meat dish on the table when my father turned to me (I always sat next to him) and said, pointing to the meat: ‘Ilyushka, pass me a meat chop, there’s a good lad. No, I haven’t forgotten it’s Lent, but I’m not going to fast anymore, so no more Lenten fare for me.’ To everyone’s dismay, he ate it up and licked his lips. Seeing our father’s attitude to Lent, we soon became indifferent to religion.”

In terms of global cultural impact, those meat chops can be compared to the Ninety-Five Theses that Martin Luther allegedly nailed to the door of Wittenberg Church in 1517. By renouncing Lent, Tolstoy embarks on his own reformation of Christianity.

Having mastered Ancient Greek, Tolstoy writes his own version of the New Testament in 1880-1881 entitled The Gospel in Brief. At heart it is a psychological novel about a young Jesus who is not the son of God, rather his mother Mary knows only that his father is not her husband Joseph. Aware of this fact, Jesus experiences a profound internal drama. His conversations with the devil, for instance, are presented by Tolstoy as an inner dialogue between Jesus and himself. Tolstoy’s text makes no mention of miracles, for he does not believe in them, and his Gospel ends with Jesus dying on the cross—with no resurrection to speak of. Tolstoy’s Christ is an ordinary man, a teacher, and a philosopher, but possessing exemplary moral fiber. For Tolstoy, Christ’s gift to mankind lies in his love for humanity, ability to forgive, and rejection of violence, not in ecclesiastical rites.

Tolstoy rejects what the church has become, along with all its rituals, because all they do is divide the Christian world. He sees himself as the creator and founder of a new universal Christianity, free of impurities. Interestingly, in Tolstoy’s Gospel the word “Pharisees” is replaced with pravoslavniye, or “orthodox,” meaning those who worship correctly—which is not in fact a literal translation.

Tolstoy knows that The Gospel in Brief cannot be published in Russia, so the book is printed in Switzerland. It only appears in Russia in 1906, and even then not in its entirety. Tolstoy’s version of the New Testament is followed by the novel Confession, the treatise What I Believe, and other religious works. His spiritual transformation completely changes his life and upsets his wife. Countess Sofia does not accept her husband’s new religion and ceases to be his creative helper and muse. Tolstoy’s new “spiritual partner” and chief promoter of his ideas is now Vladimir Chertkov. Sometime in the 1880s, Chertkov and Sofia Tolstoy develop a mutual antipathy for each other, which lasts a lifetime.

Tolstoy’s attitude to his work, status, and success also changes. The copyright to all his works printed before 1881 he transfers to his family, and all those printed afterwards he declares to be in the public domain. The pre-1881 period, including War and Peace and Anna Karenina, he considers less important. Many years later, in response to guests eulogizing about his great novels, he would say: “It’s like praising Edison for being able to dance the mazurka.” Henceforth, he regards only his religious writings as worthy of attention.

And it is his religious musings that turn Tolstoy into an underground writer, for publishers are no longer allowed to print his works in Russia. Yet his teaching continues to spread. There is a spike in the number of army recruits who refuse to serve, citing that they are followers of Tolstoy and that violence goes against their religious beliefs. The “Tolstoyans,” as they are known, continue to multiply, despite the state’s persecution of them.

But Tolstoy himself remains untouched, which displeases him. All around, people are under threat, yet he seems to live in a vacuum. He himself would be happy to suffer punishment. In 1890 Tolstoy holds a conversation with the religious philosopher Konstantin Leontiev, a staunch opponent of his: “It’s a pity, sir, that there is so little fanaticism inside me,” an angry Leontiev says to Tolstoy. “For I would surely send a letter to Saint Petersburg, where I have connections, and ask that you be exiled to Tomsk, and for your wife and daughters not to visit you, and for you to be provided with very little wherewithal. You, sir, are positively harmful!” “My dear, Konstantin!” replies the writer. “For God’s sake, please do write that letter. That is my dream. I’m doing everything I can to endanger myself, yet the government turns a blind eye. I implore you to write it.”

Tolstoy’s protection comes from Emperor Alexander III himself, who values his worth as a writer and reasons that martyrdom would only disseminate his ideas even more. Although Tolstoy’s new works are not printed, his popularity grows thanks to his social activity. In 1891, central Russia is hit by a famine. Tolstoy travels to Ryazan and opens up a provincial network of soup kitchens, collecting huge amounts of money to help the starving. On one of his trips he learns that a local priest is telling the starving peasants not to accept help from Tolstoy, because he is the Antichrist. And many take it to heart. Tolstoy’s daughter, Tatiana, remembers being told by the starving, as she tried to help them, “Go away, my dear, and take your bread with you. We don’t need alms from the Antichrist.” Afterwards, the peasants begin to realize that Tolstoy does not mean them any harm and start to wonder why the clergy call him the Antichrist.

Just a few years later several thousand people will describe themselves as Tolstoyans in the Russian Imperial Census of 1897.

Meanwhile, the teaching is denounced as a harmful sect, and the struggle against it is headed by none other than the omnipotent “Minister of the Church” Pobedonostsev. Yet even he is powerless to do anything against Tolstoy himself. Censoring Tolstoy’s work brings him into conflict with the tsar. Alexander III overrides Pobedonostsev and personally allows the publication of The Kreutzer Sonata, despite the censor having banned it. Yet Pobedonostsev scores a minor victory by stopping a staging of The Power of Darkness, despite the fact that Alexander III has seen a rehearsal at the Alexandrinsky Theatre and is reported to have enjoyed it.

SENSELESS DAYDREAMS

But in 1894 Tolstoy’s protector dies. His successor, the twenty-six-year-old Nicholas II, is interested in neither politics, nor the elderly Tolstoy, nor the equally elderly Pobedonostsev, who intimidates the young tsar. Nicholas learns from Pobedonostsev one thing: imperial power comes from God and any form of constitution from the devil.

Nicholas II’s rule gets off to a bad start. After the coronation the tsar receives delegations from various provinces. During a meeting with a group of subjects from Tver, he reads out a written speech in which he says that all hopes for representative government are nothing but “senseless daydreams.”

Petersburg society is prepared to forgive the tsar’s poorly worded “mission statement,” but Tolstoy is enraged. He writes an article entitled “Senseless Daydreams”—perhaps the most complete exposition of his political views on record—in which he verbally lays into the young emperor.

Having condemned the “insolence of the young lordling,” Tolstoy concludes that the monarchy in its present form is a danger to Russia:

After giving the monarchy a tongue-lashing, Tolstoy turns his attention to the bureaucracy, concluding that it is Russia’s army of civil servants, and not the emperor, that effectively rules Russia.

Tolstoy ends the article by naming the civil servant who irritates him the most: Pobedonostsev. He is a symbol of the regime, a man who “befuddles and corrupts the people.” It is a direct challenge to the state, as if Tolstoy were deliberately trying to humiliate the powers-that-be and provoke them into punishing him. But still the authorities do not react.

THE GREAT RESETTLEMENT

In the early years of the reign of Nicholas II, Tolstoy begins his most high-profile social campaign in defense of the Doukhobors, a Christian sect that is very close to him spiritually, since they reject the rituals of the Orthodox Church and any form of violence. In 1895, the Doukhobor community near Tiflis (today’s Tbilisi, the capital of Georgia) burns all the weapons it possesses as a protest against forced conscription. The oppression of them intensifies as a result, and they are put in prison, sent to serve in penal battalions, or exiled.

Tolstoy and Chertkov launch a wide-reaching campaign in support of the Doukhobors, whose persecution is soon global news. Tolstoy has the idea of helping the Doukhobors to emigrate to places where they will not be pursued. China, Cyprus, and Hawaii are among the options.

He begins raising money and even considers reversing his decision to forsake royalties. He quickly puts the finishing touches to a new novel Resurrection so that all the money from its publication can be given to the Doukhobors.

Tolstoy’s human rights activism goes unpunished, but his publisher Chertkov is exiled. In 1897 he moves to England (not the harshest punishment for a journalist fluent in English), where he becomes Tolstoy’s mouthpiece in the Western world. While in London, Chertkov seeks new ways to help the Doukhobors. The political émigré approaches another native of Russia, Prince Peter Kropotkin, who has lived in exile for more than twenty years, since 1876. The famous geographer, who uncovered the phenomenon of the Ice Age and wrote what are considered classics of anarchist literature, also supports the Doukhobors. Kropotkin’s scientific expeditions have repeatedly taken him to Canada, which, he concludes, is geologically akin to Siberia. He suggests that Canada be the new home of the Doukhobor community.

The great resettlement begins in 1898. At Batumi Port in modern-day Georgia, more than eight thousand people board ships chartered by Tolstoy for Quebec and Halifax. The massive operation to rescue the Doukhobors from state repression comes to an end in 1900, demonstrating that Tolstoy is virtually independent of the Russian authorities.

PRAYING FOR REASON

Nevertheless, the authorities, not to mention the church, are vexed. But still nothing happens. Until, that is, Tolstoy falls seriously ill. In 1899 press reports suggest that the writer’s days are numbered. The higher ranks of the Holy Synod are not quite sure what to do if Tolstoy dies. One member of the church hierarchy, the Archbishop of Kharkov, pens the first draft of what will become the edict to excommunicate Tolstoy from the church. In 1900, the oldest member of the Holy Synod, Metropolitan Ioanniky of Kiev, sends a secret letter forbidding all priests in Russia to perform a funeral service for Tolstoy. But the writer recovers, and instead it is the Metropolitan of Kiev who soon departs for the next world.

His successor as elder of the Holy Synod is Metropolitan Anthony of Saint Petersburg, who has a reputation as a liberal, and he decides to get things over and done with. Since the decision to excommunicate Tolstoy has already been made, he decides to publish the secret circular penned by his predecessor and have it approved by the state curator of the church (i.e., Pobedonostsev). But the latter amends the text, making it even more puritanical, and his is the version that ends up in the Church Gazette^*, signed by seven bishops: Anthony and six other metropolitans. Pobedonostsev declines to put his name to the document.

The edict lists the charges against Tolstoy: preaching the overthrow of Orthodox dogma and denying the divinity of Christ, the virgin birth, the resurrection, life after death, the Day of Judgment, and all the sacraments of the church. Tolstoy is accused of having “consciously and deliberately torn himself from all communion with the Church,” so that he cannot be considered a member of the flock until he repents. The document ends with a short prayer for Tolstoy, asking God to make him see reason.

Even inside the imperial court, the seventy-two-year-old Pobedonostsev is not held in high esteem. “I’ve read the Holy Synod’s edict regarding Tolstoy. What a load of nonsense. It’s a personal vendetta. It’s clear that Pobedonostsev is behind it and just wants to attack Tolstoy,” writes Vladimir Lebedev, a legal adviser to the government.

Why does Pobedonostsev hate Tolstoy so much when the two men have never even met? Members of the intelligentsia believe they know the answer. Twenty-five years earlier, when Anna Karenina was published, readers began searching for prototypes. Konstantin Levin was clearly the author himself. But who was Karenin—the senior official (powerful, but titleless), whose wife’s infidelity is public knowledge? Pobedonostsev’s wife, Ekaterina, was twenty-one years younger than her husband and rumored to be in a relationship with a military officer. It was even said that after the novel’s publication Ekaterina had begun to dress like Anna Karenina.