After reading Rosemary Sullivan’s brilliant biography, titled “Stalin’s Daughter”, I wanted to read the two books written by Svetlana herself to get a more composite picture of her life. “Twenty Letters to a Friend” is her first book, written in 1963, when she was still living in Moscow. She got the Indian ambassador to the USSR, Mr. T. N. Kaul, to smuggle it out of the Soviet Union in his diplomatic pouch. It is a memoir, structured as letters to a friend (later revealed as the physicist and friend, Fyodor Volkenstein), about the first thirty-seven years of her life. It covers her life as Stalin’s daughter, and his extended families through his two marriages to Katya Svanidze and Nadya Alliluyeva. Svetlana writes about her mother Nadya Alliluyeva, her aunts, uncles and cousins from Georgia, about her life in the Kremlin and life in Moscow. It is an intimate personal journey through her complex young life among formidable figures of twentieth century Soviet history. There are deep reflections on her life and that of others who affected her. We get a picture of how the Soviet power elite lived and how it alienated Svetlana right from her childhood. Svetlana and her children received loving support from the Alliluyev and Svanidze families. This was despite the violence inflicted upon them by the Stalinist regime.
The book opens on that fateful day - March 5, 1953 - when Joseph Stalin died. Svetlana recounts the last moments when Stalin opened his eyes, cast a fearful, vicious look at the doctors, his fellow politburo members and others. Then, raising his hand, he pointed a finger upwards, as if cursing everyone around him before dying. Svetlana talks about the fear that ruled his last days, as no one dared to contemplate the idea that Stalin was dying. From the ‘letters’, it appears Svetlana was the only family member present by his bedside during those last moments.
We get a picture of Stalin as father, husband, and dictator. Prior to 1939, Stalin had a close relationship with his teenage daughter. He liked to play the game of taking ‘orders’ from her and ‘executing’ them to her approval. He called her ‘my little sparrow’ and wrote loving notes to her. But the 1930s also saw Stalin morph into the ‘brutal cleanser’ of Soviet society and the party, creating terror all round. As the world war reached the USSR in 1941, Svetlana and Stalin drifted apart. Stalin spent most of his time in the Kremlin. They led separate, unconnected lives during his final twenty years and could not create a family, a shared existence, even if they both wanted to. Svetlana says her father got used to the freedom of being lonely and kept it that way.
Stalin’s wife, Nadya - Svetlana’s mother - committed suicide when Svetlana was just six years old. The cause was Stalin’s boorish behavior during a drunken night at his dacha, which offended her deeply. Stalin’s immediate response to her suicide was shock, punctuated by intermittent rage lasting several days. Rather than own up to his inhumanity, Stalin saw it as his wife betraying him. He did not attend his wife’s funeral and never went to her grave at Novodevichy in his life. Stalin believed she left him as his personal enemy because of a letter she wrote him as her last offering. Though Stalin destroyed the letter, Svetlana’s aunts later told her that Nadya had shown political opposition to Stalin’s purges and terror. Svetlana writes that only in the final years before he died, Stalin started talking about Nadya’s death to Svetlana. Svetlana felt he sought an acceptable motive for Nadya’s suicide, but failed. He would blame Nadya’s best friend, Polina Molotov, and then her brother Pavel and sister Anna. However, towards the end of his life, Stalin started speaking about his wife more gently and even stopped blaming her for committing suicide.
Svetlana says Stalin had considered Nadya her best friend in life. Because he viewed her suicide as a betrayal, it destroyed his faith in his friends and people overall. Svetlana says once Stalin had relegated someone to the rank of his enemies, he was incapable of reversing the fancied enemy back into a friend. She suggests Beria, the intelligence chief, used this to turn Stalin into the monster he became later through his terror, purges and gulags. It is the daughter’s instinctive desire to blame Beria for all the ‘Stalinist cruelty’ of her father. Svetlana herself came to accept her father’s responsibility for all the terror in her second book, “Only one Year”, which was published some years later.
The book offers additional perspectives on Stalin. Svetlana recounts Stalin’s discourteous treatment of Kremlin elites, contrasting with his polite demeanor toward his personal staff. Little things pleased him. The servants often asked him for help and he never refused them. Compared to the servants, Svetlana had limited knowledge and experience with Stalin. She writes they loved and respected him for the most ordinary qualities of which servants are the best judges. Stalin had an interest in gardening. He spent hours roaming the garden in his dacha as if he looked for a quiet, comforting spot but did not find it. Svetlana says she understood her father’s interest in nature only as she grew older. He, like a peasant, worked the garden, transforming it with no philosophical reflection of nature.
Letter no.16 captures Svetlana’s first love at age sixteen with Alexei Kapler, a forty-year-old Jewish film maker. The year was 1942, and the battle was raging in Stalingrad. They met a few times in 1942-43 in Moscow and then Kapler went to Stalingrad. However, a powerful attraction developed between them. In November 1942, an article in ‘Pravda’ titled “Letters of Lieutenant L from Stalingrad” shocked Svetlana. It was a letter from Kapler to the woman he loved, describing everything happening in Stalingrad. It described his walks with Svetlana in the Tretyakov in Moscow and even ended with a personal note, “it is perhaps snowing now in Moscow. You can see the triangulated wall of the Kremlin from your window”. Kapler returned to Moscow in January, 1943. Panic-stricken, Svetlana implored him to leave, her fear of her father’s response overwhelming her. Her fears came true when, in March 1943, authorities arrested Kapler, accusing him of being a British spy and sending him far north to Vorkuta, beyond the Arctic Circle. Svetlana’s protests were of no avail and Stalin, furious with rage, slapped her, the first time in her life. Kapler, being a Jew, seemed to bother Stalin more than anything else, writes Svetlana. After Stalin’s death in 1953, Svetlana thought about Kapler and wondered what happened to him. The letter concludes with Svetlana meeting Kapler at the Second Congress of Soviet Writers in the Kremlin in 1954, eleven years after his exile in Vorkuta. However, Svetlana was married already twice by then.
Two women occupy pride of place in Svetlana’s letters. The first is her mother, Nadya Alliluyeva. Next is Alexandra Andreevna, her nurse of the first thirty years. The picture she paints about her mother must have come from her mother’s sisters, brothers and her friends because it does not feel like the impressions of a six-year-old. Nadya was twenty-two years younger than Stalin. According to Svetlana, Nadya had the looks of a southern Slav. She also had something of the Gypsy about her, languid and Oriental, sad eyes and long, slender fingers. Svetlana says she would have looked beautiful in an Indian sari. Nadya was firm and aloof with her children. Svetlana does not see it as unkindness or lack of love, but that she expected a lot of her children. Nadya seldom kissed her children or stroked her hair. She was an idealist, a communist who believed in its pristine principles. Though she was only a few years older than Yakov, Stalin’s son by his first marriage, Nadya cared for Yakov. Stalin, however, treated him with disdain and discourtesy. She was close to her sister Anna and brother Pavel. On the night prior to her suicide, something snapped inside her as she went round and round the dacha’s garden in the company of her best friend, Polina Molotov. Later, she retired to her room, but the servants found her dead with a pistol wound in the morning. Stalin covered it up by announcing it as death because of appendicitis. Svetlana did not know it was a suicide until she read about it in an English magazine at age sixteen, a decade later.
Alexandra Andreevna was Svetlana’s nurse, but she played the role of her mother after Nadya’s demise. Svetlana considered her a member of the family more than anyone else. But for her steady warmth, Svetlana claims she would have gone out of her mind. Alexandra worshipped three people in the Stalin household. Nadya was the first. The second was Nikolai Bukharin, whom Svetlana says everyone loved. The third was grandfather Sergei Alliluyev. Alexandra had a superb command of the Russian language, pure, beautiful and grammatically correct. She was a living chronicle of the time in which she lived. Her marvellous stories recounted life in Czarist St. Petersburg and later, post-revolution, in the Kremlin. She told stories about Trotsky’s ‘wives’, Bukharin’s ‘wives’ and famous German communists like Clara Zetkin and Ernst Thälmann. In 1956, Alexandra died; the family fittingly buried her next to Nadya Alliluyeva in a Novo-Devichy grave. Svetlana pays a lovely tribute to her in letter no.20. She writes, “she was like a healthy, sheltering tree of life that rustles its leaves in the sun, that is washed by rain and gleams in the sunlight. A tree which blossomed and bore fruit despite all the storms that tried to beat and break it..”
A refreshing feature of the book is Svetlana’s raw and disarming honesty. Such open, expressive writing from a Soviet citizen in 1967 would have been unexpected. The letters bring out her deep yearning for independence and freedom, living all the while close to immense power, control and tyranny. We can see her as a daughter desperate to love her father even though she was well-aware of his crimes in killing her beloved uncles, aunts, and friends. Her letters recall poignant anecdotes, rare tender moments with her father and cruel, lonely moments with him as well. Throughout the book, Svetlana’s struggle to establish her independent identity, away from the brutal legacy of her father, stands out and crumbles under its own immense weight. Svetlana’s love of nature and great feel for flowery prose are visible in these letters.
This book is worth reading because it provides a personal connection to 20th-century history. It helps us understand the past and its relevance to the present.