Thank you for downloading this free sampler of: THE KARAMAZOV CORRESPONDENCE Letters of Vladimir S. Soloviev Edited and translated by VLADIMIR WOZNIUK Series: Studies in Russian and Slavic Literatures, Cultures, and History September 2019 | 388 pp. 9781644690536 | $129.00 | Hardcover SUMMARY The Karamazov Correspondence: Letters of Vladimir S. Soloviev represents the first fully annotated and chronologically arranged collection of the Russian philosopherpoet’s most important letters, the vast majority of which have never before been translated into English. Soloviev was widely known for his close association with Fyodor M. Dostoevsky in the final years of the novelist’s life, and these letters reflect many of the qualities and contradictions that also personify the title characters of Dostoevsky’s last and greatest novel, The Brothers Karamazov. The selected letters cover all aspects of Soloviev’s life, ranging from vital concerns about human rights and the political and religious turmoil of his day to matters related to family and friends, his love life, and early drafts of his works, including poetic endeavors. ABOUT THE EDITOR Vladimir Wozniuk is professor emeritus at Western New England University and a center associate at Harvard’s Davis Center of Russian and Eurasian Studies. He has edited and translated four volumes of Vladimir S. Soloviev’s essays spanning a wide range of topics, including religion, politics, law, human rights, art and aesthetics. PRAISE “The Karamazov Correspondence is an immensely valuable contribution to studies of Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov and to analogous studies of the author’s relation to Vladimir S. Soloviev. Vladimir Wozniuk’s book is a brilliant work of scholarship, and composed by a renowned scholar of Soloviev in general, and, in this case, of Soloviev and The Brothers Karamazov. His work is a must read for all Dostoevsky and Soloviev scholars and students. Vladimir Wozniuk has done classic work on Soloviev, and his new book belongs to this high order.” —Robert Louis Jackson, Emeritus Professor of Slavic Languages and Literatures, Yale University Take 20% off your order when you sign up for our newsletter at www.academicstudiespress.com/newsletter The Karamazov Correspondence Letters of Vladimir S. Soloviev Studies in Russian and Slavic Literatures, Cultures, and History Series Editor: Lazar Fleishman (Stanford University, Palo Alto, California) Other Titles in this Series War, Revolution, and Governance: The Baltic Countries in the Twentieth Century Edited by Lazar Fleishman & Amir Weiner Spaces of Creativity: Essays on Russian Literature and the Arts Ksana Blank Fifty-Five Years with Russia Magnus Ljunggren Watersheds: Poetics and Politics of the Danube River Edited by Marijeta Bozovic & Matthew D. 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Rabinowitz Life In Transit: Jews in Postwar Lodz, 1945–1950 Shimon Redlich Vladimir Soloviev and the Spiritualization of Matter Oliver Smith All the Same The Words Don’t Go Away: Essays on Authors, Heroes, Aesthetics, and Stage Adaptations from the Russian Tradition Caryl Emerson Mandelstam Oleg Lekmanov The Superstitious Muse: Thinking Russian Literature Mythopoetically David Bethea A Reader’s Guide to Nabokov’s “Lolita” Julian W. Connolly Early Modern Russian Letters: Texts and Contexts Marcus C. Levitt Language and Culture in Eighteenth Century Russia Victor Zhivov A Companion to Andrei Platonov’s “The Foundation Pit” Thomas Seifrid A “Labyrinth of Linkages” in Tolstoy’s “Anna Karenina” Gary Browning For more information on this series, please visit: academicstudiespress.com/russianandslaviclit The Karamazov Correspondence Letters of Vladimir S. Soloviev Edited and Translated, with Introduction and Commentary, by VLADIMIR WOZNIUK Boston 2019 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Solovyov, Vladimir Sergeyevich, 1853–1900, author. | Wozniuk, Vladimir, translator, editor, writer of added commentary. Title: The Karamazov correspondence : letters of Vladimir S. Soloviev / edited and translated, with introduction and commentary, by Vladimir Wozniuk. Description: Boston : Academic Studies Press, 2019. | Series: Studies in Russian and Slavic literatures, cultures, and history | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2019008859 (print) | LCCN 2019012869 (ebook) | ISBN 9781644690543 (ebook) | ISBN 9781644690536 (hardcover) Subjects: LCSH: Solovyov, Vladimir Sergeyevich, 1853–1900--Correspondence. | Poets, Russian--19th century--Correspondence. | Philosophers--Russia-Correspondence. | Philosophy, Russian--19th century--History--Sources. Classification: LCC PG3470.S7 (ebook) | LCC PG3470.S7 Z48 2019 (print) | DDC 891.71/3 [B] --dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019008859 ©Academic Studies Press, 2019 ISBN 978-1-64490-53-6 (hardback) ISBN 978-1-64490-54-3 (electronic) Book design by PHi Business Solutions Ltd. Cover deisgn by Ivan Grave Published by Academic Studies Press in 2019 1577 Beacon Street Brookline, MA 02446, USA press@academicstudiespress.com www.academicstudiespress.com Contents Introduction: The Karamazov Correspondence Letters of Vladimir S. Soloviev, Arranged Chronologically Appendix 1: On the Deathbed Confession of V. S. Soloviev Appendix 2: Brief Biographical Information on Soloviev’s Correspondents Editor-Translator’s Annotations Index of Biblical References General Index ix 1 288 291 299 339 341 Introduction: The Karamazov Correspondence I t is commonly believed that Fyodor Dostoevsky modeled his fictional character Alyosha—the novitiate monk in the novel Brothers Karamazov—on his young friend, the budding religious philosopher Vladimir Sergeevich Soloviev (1853–1900). However, Dostoevsky’s wife, Anna, believed that the young Soloviev provided greater inspiration for her husband’s fashioning of the middle Karamazov—the intellectual Ivan. Moreover, it has been suggested that Soloviev also influenced the depiction of the intemperate elder sibling, Dmitri, which, when added to the other two portrayals, yields a kind of literary triptych.1 Facets of this Karamazov triptych—the otherworldly Christ-likeness of Alyosha, the rationalism of Ivan, and the intemperate nature of Dmitri— are also displayed in the real-life Soloviev’s personal letters, which contribute enormously to understanding this complex figure, who was so crucial to late nineteenth-century Russian intellectual and literary discourse. Soloviev’s correspondence with family, friends, and contemporary notables, as well as with his readers more generally, eventually filled more than four published volumes, which provide an intimate supplement to the ten volumes that comprise his other writings.2 For it is in these letters that we find Soloviev’s deepest thoughts, impressions, and feelings on myriad subjects that would have been considered revelatory—and in some instances even shocking—while he lived: these include aspects of his love life; the serious and multifaceted health problems that he faced; his day-to-day worries about money and debts; and his sometimes rather explicit and coarse comments about the luminaries he knew. All this appeared against the backdrop of his overarching concerns—the religious, social, and political problems of his day. Most, if not all, of the seeds of the writings for which he is better known may be found in these letters. After a youthful infatuation with nihilism, Vladimir Soloviev, the son of the eminent historian Sergei Mikhailovich Soloviev, sensed a calling to a destiny x Introduction: The Karamazov Correspondence greater than following in his father’s footsteps or occupying a comfortable niche in the imperial Russian bureaucracy. Indeed, he would eventually forsake many conventional norms considered more or less standard for someone of his class and intellectual prowess in Russian society—married life, a university post, and a sinecure in that bureaucracy—in favor of the twofold mission of change to which he understood himself being called: serving Christ and Christianity in the task of ecumenism and unity, and evangelizing to Russia’s elites about their obligations to the world in this regard. So it was at the age of twenty that Soloviev first began to elucidate this calling in a series of distinctly evangelistic letters to his then-fiancée Katya, at about the same time that he started to outline the contours of a portion of that lifelong mission: bringing to light what he referred to as the “absolute unity” of Divinity. That notion would later translate into the idea of “all-unity” (vseedinstvo), Soloviev’s signature term for Divinity’s penetration and unification of all reality through the God-man Jesus Christ. Soloviev’s youthful letters to his fiancée echo many of Jesus’s imperatives to his disciples, such as that their lives should be dedicated not to reclusive contemplation but to active participation in change: “At one time, monastic life had its high appointment, but now the time has come not to run from the world but to go into the world, and to go into the world in order to transform it.” Other letters to friends and family also disclose a great deal about that purpose and just how he thought about achieving it, as well the successes and failures he encountered along the way. The letters in the present volume confirm, with considerable power, the scope and significance of Soloviev’s contributions to ecumenical discourse and unity, which have long been appreciated as crucial in the Orthodox East but less so in the West. For a long while, Vladimir Soloviev was recognized in the West primarily for a few of his philosophical writings and his posthumous influence on the so-called second generation of Russian Symbolist writers (Andrei Bely, Alexander Blok, Vyacheslav Ivanov). The Russian Academy of Sciences more fully acknowledged his activity as transcending intellectual or artistic boundaries, accepting him into its ranks in the triple capacity of philosopher, social and political commentator, and poet.3 And so it is significant that on the centenary of his death, the Vatican officially praised him as a “Russian figure of extraordinary depth, who also noted with great clarity the tragic division among Christians and the great urgent need for their unity.”4 For the first time, readers of Soloviev in English may now follow the evolution of his thought through his correspondence, as he cultivated the germs of Introduction: The Karamazov Correspondence ideas into the final versions of works such as The History and Future of Theocracy, Russia and the Universal Church, and The Meaning of Love. They can also view facets of his humanness that have been otherwise eclipsed by his prowess and activity as a public intellectual—things he held in common with all who have ever walked the earth, ranging from times of carefree happiness and enjoying simple pleasures to others of interpersonal tensions and grief, jealousy as well as anger. They will also become privy to interludes of profound loneliness, when he craved company but had none, and to times of deep sorrow, when one or another of his friends or acquaintances passed away. And they will also find glimpses of a much lighter side, in perorations on a night of imbibing too much wine or in humorous reflections on the absurdities of life and his own mortality, which seems to have been a constant companion for him, considering his frailties and the chronic, often debilitating, illnesses that plagued him from cradle to grave. Soloviev explored all sorts of traditional and nontraditional remedies and therapies for the various maladies that seemed to afflict him without respite: it was even rumored that he regularly drank turpentine as a therapeutic as well as using it externally as a disinfectant.5 In any event, his letters relate—at times in excruciating detail—the extent to which illnesses of all kinds impeded his ability to work over the course of his adult life.6 MASTER OF LANGUAGE AND STYLE Soloviev’s failure to meet writing deadlines because of one or another of his infirmities or ailments may have contributed to some friction with editors, but his habitual tardiness with personal correspondence was more likely due to a self-professed “laziness” to respond, which even bordered on a loathing that he once referred to as “epistolary phobia”—somewhat surprising, especially given the sheer number as well as the length of many of his letters. Although he composed the vast bulk of his correspondence in Russian, Soloviev also produced a number of letters in French, and at least one—a humorous note—has survived in passable English. Perhaps more purposefully than most others around him, he regularly laced his writing with smatterings of other languages too, ancient as well as modern; so we find phrases in Hebrew, Church Slavonic, Greek, Latin, German, and Italian throughout his correspondence as well as in his professional work. And as is evident in other letters, he even toyed with Croatian and Swedish (the latter in a platonic interlude with a chambermaid on one of his Nordic excursions). xi xii Introduction: The Karamazov Correspondence Soloviev’s love of languages may have inspired him to flirt with one or another of them at different times, but his heart would always belong to Russian. The purity of this love was discerned early on, long before it had fully matured, and even by some who seemed instantly critical of the young upstart of a philosopher-in-the-making. After the renowned Slavophile and critic Nikolai N. Strakhov read through Soloviev’s master’s thesis (“The Crisis of Western Philosophy: Against Positivism,” 1874), he penned his impressions in a letter to his friend, the novelist Lev Tolstoy: I share your opinion about Soloviev; although he manifestly disclaims Hegel, he secretly follows him. The entire criticism of Schopenhauer is based on this. But it seems it’s even worse. After rejoicing that he’s found the metaphysical essence, Soloviev’s now ready to see it everywhere, face to face, and he’s disposed to a faith in spiritism. Moreover, he’s awfully sickly, as if emaciated—one should fear for him—he won’t end well. But his booklet, the more I read it, the more talented it seems to me. What mastery of language, what communication, what force! (1875).7 Kudos similar to those at the end of Strakhov’s comment may also be applied to Soloviev’s letters, if not altogether evenly. For, as an eloquent artist of the word in both prose and poetry, he would often create artful and witty gems in his correspondence as well. Although only a shadow of Soloviev the master stylist can be achieved in translation, I have indicated the contours of his epistolary style and tone in various ways, while unburdening the reader from arcane terms of theological and philosophical discourse or the tedious formalities that reflect the stiffness of the Victorian Age in which he lived. Readers of these letters can follow the development of Soloviev’s tone and style from that of a young person searching for a voice and purpose to a mature, conscientious man of faith becoming more and more convinced of his mission, at the same time playfully exploiting the myriad and confounding absurdities of “life on this planet,” as he referred to it more than once. Soloviev’s inclination to playfulness with language expanded as he aged, often defying his subject matter and even running counter to his mood at the moment. And this inclination grew in tandem with a conscious turn to humorous verses (shutochnye stikhi), his letters eventually becoming littered with wry allusions and punning of all kinds, including double entendre and interlingual Introduction: The Karamazov Correspondence word play that challenge modern readers, even in Russian. Witty versification and erudite punning certainly pleased some of his correspondents, while just as certainly alienating others. In any event, the literary quality of his wordplay more often impresses than disappoints. Take, for instance, the tongue-in-cheek “Epitaph” that the poet-philosopher provided for his own tombstone, some eight years before he died: Vladimir Soloviev lies in this place; A philosopher first, now a skeleton’s face. ‘Twas many that held him truly dear, For others an enemy he was to fear; But too passionate and lost in love, He cast himself from high above. A soul too lean, body no fatter: Devil took the former, dogs ate the latter. Passerby! Learn well from this instance, Love’s ruinous, and faith—good in persistence.8 HAZARDOUS DISCOURSE Soloviev’s self-deprecating humor may have amused many, but he no doubt jested a bit too much with respect to others, at times pushing the boundaries of propriety. It is quite telling that Ernest L. Radlov, the original editor of Soloviev’s letters, found it necessary in his introductory comments to the first volume to deflect any potential hard feelings over the “gentle jests and mocking” contained therein. Radlov simply ascribed this jesting and mocking to a divinely inspired “purely childlike mirth.” On this point he quoted the Croatian Catholic bishop Josip G. Strossmayer, who defended Soloviev as being “an honest soul, pious and truly holy.”9 However, the tendency to mock and jest seemed to present a problem for readers of Soloviev’s published letters, as can be inferred from the fact that Radlov felt obliged to continue with this line of explanation in his introduction to the second volume, where he suggested that “moral inspiration” somehow trumped places of “indelicacy and even vulgarity.” And with regard to the “hazardous comments” that sometimes made their way into Soloviev’s letters, Radlov asserted: “One ought not to look for a hostile attitude or desire to condemn anybody—it’s usually just a witty joke, a play of the mind—and nothing more.” xiii xiv Introduction: The Karamazov Correspondence If some did find discourse with Soloviev to be hazardous, it was probably because of his deftness and acuity in crowning a bluntly honest observation with a brilliant jest that hit too close to the mark. To be sure, and as his letters clearly show, the philosopher-poet always seemed prepared to take the initiative to reconcile with anyone who may have taken umbrage at his witty and at times crude critiques either from his pen or face-to-face, not to speak of polemics on the printed page. And so claims of innocent banter could not always suffice as a defense, especially when “moral inspiration” challenged the intellectual and moral essence of renowned public figures such as Lev Tolstoy or Nikolai Strakhov. As these letters detail, after many disagreements and tension-filled verbal battles, Soloviev’s relationship with Strakhov gradually changed, the elderly materialistically inclined thinker eventually shunning the theologian-philosopher, who would end up referring to Strakhov as his “enemy-friend” (vragodrug), a neologism that nevertheless seemed to hold out hope, however faint, for reconciliation. And so, when the aged Strakhov fell mortally ill, Soloviev discreetly inquired about his enemy-friend and continued to seek reconciliation, but to no avail. The Soloviev-Tolstoy relationship may have been just as tumultuous, but it did not end in bitterness. Soloviev seemed to be more of an irritating gadfly to Tolstoy, who commented privately in 1884 that he found the young philosopher “tedious and pitiable,” but later admitted, if only to himself, that he did not feel comfortable around him: “Spoke with [Soloviev], not easily. I am somehow exceptionally cautious with him. Don’t know why.”10 One reason for that caution is suggested by an incident in which, after the appearance of Tolstoy’s heretical “Brief Exposition of the Gospel” (1881), Soloviev-the-evangelist criticized him to his face—as well as in letters and on the printed page—regarding the liberties that the novelist-moralist had taken with the Christian Gospels. For Soloviev, this “pseudo-Christianity” may have been no different from other attempts over the ages to add or delete something from Christianity as put forward in the Nicene Creed, yet he would not let the matter drop, even referring once to Tolstoy’s views as “semi-Buddhism” and at another time to Tolstoy himself as “our indispensable Columbus of all the discovered Americas.” Even so, Soloviev defended Tolstoy’s right to say and write what he wanted in defiance of the official censorship, although he did not stop trying to convince him both directly and indirectly. It was in a long letter to Tolstoy that Soloviev produced one of the most eloquent and logically consistent Christian apologias on the topic of resurrection as a kind of ultimate reconciliation, with biological Introduction: The Karamazov Correspondence evolution serving as a backdrop for the mystery. With Christ as a model, he summarized it thus: Victory over death is the unavoidable natural consequence of intrinsic spiritual perfection; a person in whom the spiritual principle has taken away the power over everything lower, decisively and finally, cannot be subdued by death; spiritual power, having achieved the fullness of perfection, inevitably overflows, so to speak, over the edge of subjective-psychic life; it seizes corporeal life as well, transforms it, and then finally inspirits it, indissolubly tying it to itself. IN QUEST OF DIVINE WISDOM, FOR LOVE OF SOPHIA Soloviev’s lifelong quest for mystical knowledge always seemed to lead back to scripture, where his frame of reference and mainstay would remain the eternal call of “wisdom” (Gk. “Sophia”), which resonates especially powerfully in the Hebrew Bible: “Does not wisdom call out? Does not understanding raise her voice? On the heights along the way, where the paths meet, she takes her stand; beside the gates leading into the city, at the entrances, she cries aloud: ‘To you, O men, I call out; I raise my voice to all mankind’” (Proverbs 8:1–4). As a religious philosopher, the youthful Soloviev would find room in the Wisdom tradition for the idea of Divine Humanity (or Godmanhood—bogochelovechestvo), while at the same time attempting to preserve within it the idea of “the eternal feminine.”11 Not only do Soloviev’s love letters to his cousin Katya provide glimpses of a romantic nature—at times tender, at times cross, and at others even jealous— but it is in them that we also first encounter the subtlety—perhaps even the sublimity—of Soloviev’s quest for Divine Wisdom, as embedded in his Christian faith. And this appears almost coincidentally with an idealized spousal vision that could never have been ultimately realized in this life, but which may help shed some light on E. L. Radlov’s curiously brief and enigmatic observation that “Soloviev attached importance to these letters, and asked whether they were intact.” The fact that Soloviev could not give first place in his heart either to Katya or to anything else that could interfere with his primary mission in quest of the Wisdom found in Christ undoubtedly contributed to the end of their relationship. He wrote to her: xv xvi Introduction: The Karamazov Correspondence For the majority of people, the whole thing ends with this; love and what should follow: family happiness—constituting the major interest of their life. But I have a completely different mission, which becomes more clear, definite, and fixed for me each day. I will dedicate my life to its fulfillment, within my powers. Therefore, personal and family relations will always occupy second place in my being. And this is all I wanted to say when I wrote that I can’t give all of myself to you. As it happened, Soloviev would never be done with Wisdom—that is, Sophia— either as an ideal or in practical reality. As Soloviev’s early letters reveal, after the breakup with his cousin, his quest for Wisdom led him to various excursions into the occult—that is, “Spiritualism” and “Spiritism,” both in vogue at the time—even conducting him to destinations as far off as the British Museum and the Egyptian desert, most of which turned out to be disappointing in one way or another. But it was not all for naught, for Soloviev’s philosopher friend Dmitri N. Tsertelev, who joined him at times in that quest, played a key role in his next serious encounters with femininity, acquainting him with two of his relatives, both of whom happened to be named—Sophia: Countess Sophia A. Tolstoy, widow of the poet Alexei K. Tolstoy, and her married but estranged niece, Sophia P. Khitrovo.12 The countess would hold seances at one of her residences, and Soloviev would participate, clinging to hope that a form of wisdom might be found therein, until he began to have unwholesome, even frightening visions and premonitions related to these experiences with the occult. Yet he had other reasons to frequent Krasny Rog and Pustynka—the Tolstoy estates—for a romantic relationship had blossomed between him and Sophia P., who lived with the countess. He would eventually end up spending long weeks, even many months, at one or the other, from time to time corresponding to friends and family about both Sophias. Unfortunately, apart from a few poems and remarks, no letters to Sophia P. seem to have survived, but a number of Soloviev’s letters addressed to Sophia A. have, and these are replete with sentiments and comments about “love.” When taken together with remarks appearing in various other letters over the years, the tenor of these letters to the elderly Sophia could be interpreted as reflecting his involvement with the younger Sophia. Soloviev would later maintain that he had remained chaste all his life, indirectly suggesting that this and every other romantic relationship of his had never exceeded religious or public norms of propriety. And though a few surviving letters to another married (but in this case younger) Sophia—Sophia Introduction: The Karamazov Correspondence M. Martynova—may be read as intimating something more, his involvement with women has generally remained enigmatic. Sophia M. enthralled as well as vexed him over the years 1892–1895, a span that has been referred to as his “erotic” period. Any questions about Soloviev’s chastity during that time must be placed in the larger context of a masterful series of essays that he was working on as his health declined. Appearing under the collective title “The Meaning of Love” (Smysl liubvi), these essays on the subject of sexual union seem to move back and forth from an aloof and distinctly analytic tone to one strangely wry and playful. This back-and-forth, from analysis to playfulness, may be attributed at least in part to Soloviev’s overall purpose—to cast light on the fundamental nature of the universe as the “all-unity” idea, only imperfectly realized in clumsy, corporeal reality. Taken together with his essays on sex and cosmic all-unity, Soloviev’s love letters seem to hold two interdependent principles as central: Wisdom may be found in the mystery of eternal Divine Femininity as the source of potential regeneration for all humankind, while a mercurial, if inept, syzygy (Gk. a conjunction or combination of forces) supplies necessary signposts toward that telos. Famously conceived and written near Lake Saimaa in Finland, Soloviev’s serious poetry during this time suggests the fading of an idyllic dream, and perhaps even a descending fatalistic mood, which might be understood as implying an internal struggle between that dream, or mood, and Wisdom. Among various verses carrying that sense in his letters to Sophia M, the following four lines stand out: When my daydream at the edge of previous days Finds you somewhere back there in a foggy haze, I’ll cry sweetly, just like the first Jew At the brink of the Promised Land. But the inspiration that Soloviev’s muse provided came at a price, for it brought along unexpected practical headaches and costs, such that he would remark to his younger brother Misha about Sophia M.: “Imagine, I have to deal with such a disposition, compared to which S. P. [Sophia Petrovna] is simplicity and ease themselves.” Thank you for viewing this free sampler of The Karamazov Correspondence. To purchase this volume, please visit www.academicstudiespress.com or your book supplier. xvii