"The aesthetic is merely one expression of the ethical. ... If feelings are fine amd noble, art will be fine and noble too, and vicc-vcrsa."27 And:
"How relieved all those people would have been who spend their time shut up in a concert hall listening to Beethoven's last symphony if the orchestra had played them a trepak or a czardas or something of that order instead!"28
When What 1$ Art?, mutilated by the censor, came out at the beginning of 1898, it aroused a storm of protest. Most artists were simply dismayed by this profession of faith by the most illustrious author in Russia, confusing art with pedagogy and talent with right-mindedness. Abroad, translations soon appeared and indignation rose even higher: Tolstoy was called a renegade, an iconoclast, the enemy of freedom of thought. In the Revue des Deux Mondes RenЈ Doumic wrote, "Tolstoy absolutely refuses to acknowledge the value of form, through which the language of art differs from any other. The artist is the man who knows better than anyone else how to express feelings which anyone else may experience more deeply than he." "When Tolstoy speaks of French literature it is clear that he is speaking of what he knows not," observed J. K. Huysmans. "His weakness is to give art a moral purpose," noted Camille Mauclair. Rimy de Gourmont went him one better: "Art is its own purpose and goal." Mallarm6 explained: "It seems to me that the illustrious apostle is assigning a quality to art as a principle which is actually more its consequence." The soft-hearted Henri de Regnicr sputtered and fumed, "These are the ideas of an old man!" "Tolstoy has always got his muzhik in his pocket," Andre Suares later said. "Shopenhauer and Rembrandt are worthless because the muzhik doesn't understand them!"
Tolstoy was not displeased by this commotion. If they were all shouting so loudly then he must have hit the mark. Besides, the painter Repin, who had so often done his portrait, thought he was right. And so did all his friends and disciples. The truth was that he could not be mistaken because he was inspired by God, whereas those scribblers in France, England and Germany were all in league with the devil.
Now that he had defined the role of art in society, he felt like writing a piece of fiction. Resurrection, perhaps—he had been working on it for a long time, but rather halfheartedly; or the adventures of Iladji Murad—that would take him back to his youth in the Caucasus. In any case, his next novel must be an illustration of his theories. Would he himself be able to live in accordance with what he taught others? Suddenly, he wasn't so sure! This lust for life, this love of nature, this need to expend his energies in the open air, or in bed, this childish desire to tell stories . . . Was it moral? Was it necessary? At seventy, Tolstoy the philosopher began to have suspicions of Tolstoy the author.
PART VII
The Apostle of Non-violence
1. Resurrection; the Dukhobors
As though by design, cver>f time Tolstoy was about to become engrossed in some fictional characters, a real-life injustice or calamity would strike his compatriots, tear him away from his dream world and thrust him back to his post of protester. Such vast numbers of people saw him as the incarnation of the conscience of the times that he was compelled, under pain of losing face, to adopt an unequivocal stand on ever)' event. I lis sincerity, moreover, was always absolute, and his courage owed nothing to his impunity.
Early in 1895, there was renewed talk in Russia of an old religious sect known as the Dukhobors, or "spirit-wrestlers," which Tsar Alexander I had exiled to the Caucasus long before. Their doctrinc resembled that of Tolstoy: like him they advocated chastity, vegetarianism, abstinence from tobacco and alcohol, pooling of all goods and property and non-resistance to evil. As a consequence of the latter, they refused to serve in the army, and this led to very harsh disciplinary measures against some of their members. When Nicholas II acceded to the throne, the government's reactionary tendencies increased, and the Dukhobors were placed under strict surveillance. In the spring of 1895 those in the Caucasus, who had been accustomed to carrying arms to defend themselves against marauding hillsmen, determined, at the instigation of their spiritual leader Verigin, to destroy their daggers, pistols and rifles and publicly proclaim their refusal to serve in the army. The auto-da-fe took place during the night of June 28-29, in all the lands held by the Dukhobors. The sectarians gathered to pray and sing hymns around the huge bonfires in which their instruments of death were melting, crackling and exploding. Cossacks were sent to "restore order"; they arrived at a gallop, circled the unfortunate wor-
shippers and beat them with nagayki whips until they had disfigured them. Then, by administrative order, the Dukhobors' lands were confiscated and their houses pillaged, four thousand of them were exiled to the mountain villages, and their leaders were put in prison.
Tolstoy was horrified when he heard of this brutality. No doubt it was his books that had given these poor folk the courage to proclaim their faith. His disciplc Biryukov left for the Caucasus on August 4 to investigate the matter at first hand. He returned with an articlc of such virulence that it could not conccivably be published in Russia. But Tolstoy had it printed anonymously (wise precaution) in the London Times, under the title The Persecution of Christians in Russia in 1895.1
The following year, having learned that of the four thousand Dukhobors sent to live in the mountains, four hundred had already died of privation, he encouraged Chertkov, Biryukov and Tregubov, another of his disciples, to write a manifesto to attract public attention to the sufferings of these innocent people. The manifesto was callcd Give HelpJ and was followed by a postscript by Leo Tolstoy; this time the text was signed, adding to its moral weight. Large numbers of typewritten copies were made and sent to all the influential figures in the administration. The tsar himself received a copy through the mail. Retaliation was swift: the police searched the homes of Chertkov and Biryukov and confiscated masses of papers relating to the religious sects, destroying any that might compromise Pobyedonostsev; and shortly thereafter, in February 1897, Biryukov was exiled to a little town in Kurland, and Chertkov, who still had friends in court, was given the choice of accompanying his "accomplice" or leaving the country. He decided to go to England.
Tolstoy made a special trip to St. Petersburg to bid his disciples farewell. lie was not to see them again for many years. He felt sorry for them and envied them too: they, at least, were suffering for a just cause. When would he, too, be allowed to become a martyr? Speaking of Biryukov and Chertkov, he wrote, "The joy of spiritual communion . . . was so much stronger than the sorrow of separation that even now I cannot produce in myself that state of affliction which is considered proper in such circumstances. They are (both) so full of light, so happy and simple that they inspire absolutely no pity. What is going on inside them is far more important than an enforced change of residence."2
Sonya, who had accompanied Tolstoy to St. Petersburg, was so incensed at the punishment inflicted upon her husband's followers that she even forgot her hatred of Chertkov. Since he was leaving, she began to see all his fine qualities. "The place Tolstoy and his partisans will occupy in history because of this," she proudly wrote to her sister,