Tolstoy

Sonya had to get used to the idea of being a widow at the age of sixty-six, and she was inevitably racked by grief and guilt: her last years were ones of loneliness and self-recrimination. She feared with some justification what people would write – and were indeed already writing – about her, and at the same time she felt completely superfluous, as the curtain had now fallen on the drama in which she had starred. To some it seemed that she had at last become meek and acquiescent, as if she had undergone the spiritual transformation her husband had wished; to others it seemed she was the only one to have emerged from the trauma as a better person.³ One of the few consolations for Sonya in the days following her husband’s funeral was the beautiful wintry weather which at last descended after those bleak November days, bringing sub-zero temperatures, clear blue skies and lots of snow. Just before Christmas in 1910 she walked out with her camera to take photographs of Tolstoy’s grave to send to her daughter Tanya, who was then in Rome, although, she confided to her diary, the beauty of the frost and the blue sky made her feel even more sad. Another consolation was the moral support of her sons, who had remained loyal to her throughout. She was still estranged from her daughter Sasha, and relations with her eldest daughter Tanya also remained quite tense.

In January 1911 the kind-hearted dr Makovický left for good, and Sonya felt another precious link to her husband had been lost. It was difficult for Sonya not to feel embattled. Sasha was still on the side of the ‘hateful’ Chertkov, despite a growing discord between them, while the profligate ways of three of her sons prompted them to bring up, with indecent haste, the uncomfortable question of their father’s legacy and the future of Yasnaya Polyana. Since Vanechka Tolstoy’s death, the estate had belonged to Sonya, Ilya, Misha, Andrey and Lev (Sergey having relinquished his share). They all wanted to be able to preserve Yasnaya Polyana as a cultural monument, but they did not have the necessary funds – indeed they seemed always to be short of cash, and dependent on handouts from their mother. despite Sonya’s unease, Ilya, Misha and Andrey hatched a plan to sell some of the land to a wealthy American (Lev was in Sweden at this point). This was not such a new idea, as Chertkov had been on the look-out for an American philanthropist to purchase Yasnaya Polyana back in 1908. The plan then had been for the land to be given to the local peasants, as Chertkov felt this would constitute the best possible eightieth birthday present for Lev Nikolayevich, but nothing had materialised. Alexander Kuzminsky, Sonya’s nephew, was now deputised to move this project forward and he duly arrived in New York on 1 January 1911 armed with a list of American millionaires who had shown an interest in literature and the arts. Unfortunately, as he soon learned, Jews were still prohibited from buying land outside the Pale of Settlement in Russia, so most of the names on his list were ineligible. Tolstoy had made good copy during his lifetime, and American newspapers now pounced on the story of the disputes over this ill-conceived new proposal. Sonya persuaded her sons to give an interview to a Russian newspaper in order to explain that they had wanted to sell only the land, not the house.⁴

That was not the only scandal: journalists also had a field-day with the battle over Tolstoy’s manuscripts, which were split between the two warring camps of Chertkov and Sasha on the one side, and Sonya on the other.⁵ When the provisions of Tolstoy’s will had come into effect a lawyer had promptly appeared at the Historical Museum, where Sonya had kept those Tolstoy’s manuscripts in her possession, and ordered the archive to be sealed. Sonya was aghast, as she believed the manuscripts still belonged to her, and she used her connections at the Museum to refuse access to Chertkov and Sasha. Another edition of the Tolstoy collected works was underway, and she had invested large amounts of money already to have each of the twenty volumes typeset: she was not going to give up her rights easily. It was now open warfare. In January 1911 Chertkov published a very biased account of Tolstoy’s last days, and he and Sasha published a joint letter shortly afterwards stating their grievances regarding the copyright issue. Tolstoy’s name thus continued to appear frequently in the Russian press, and Tanya pleaded with her mother to give way and so restrain Sasha from engaging in an undignified and shameful public battle with her. The matter would not be resolved for another three years.⁶