TBILISI, Georgia -- Eduard A. Shevardnadze, who helped keep the world from exploding as he negotiated the end of the Cold War, somehow has been unable to do the same in his own small, forgotten homeland.

Mr. Shevardnadze, the last Soviet foreign minister, the diplomat who was the toast of the world as he oversaw the dismantling of the Berlin Wall and the growth of the Soviet Union's friendship with the United States, now spends his days surrounded by bodyguards, increasingly disregarded and even reviled as Georgia destroys itself.

Mr. Shevardnadze returned to his newly independent nation in March 1992 to rescue it from civil war. He was quickly elected chairman of the Parliament by a grateful citizenry who saw him as a savior. Now, instead of leading a hero's life, he is

suffering the bitter harvest of the new world order he helped create.

"The demise of the empire was unmanageable," he said in a late-evening interview. "I favored the idea of a transition period, but somehow the coup in August 1991 hastened this process and it all happened in an unmanageable way.

"Then the Georgian government took a wrong turn, which led the country to isolation and confrontation. Now we are bearing the fruit of that confrontation."

Georgia began to fall apart when the terrifying power that had silenced ethnic desires and rivalries for so many years lost its grip.

Its first leader after independence, Zviad Gamsakhurdia, was ousted in a coup in January 1992 after behaving erratically. He fled the country, but he returned to launch an offensive against the government last fall.

At the same time, separatists from the Abkhazia region along the Black Sea took up arms in earnest. Mr. Shevardnadze flew to the regional capital of Sukhumi to rally his troops and vowed to defend the city to the end.

But his troops were routed, and he barely escaped with his life. About 250,000 Georgians were driven out of their homes by the (( minority Abkhaz ethnic group, and many now are living a bleak existence in Tbilisi hotels.

Another ethnic battle is being waged in South Ossetia. Between the two regions, Georgia has lost control over about one-fifth of its territory.

"Georgia is in the worst trouble economically of all the former republics," Mr. Shevardnadze said, speaking quietly, almost sadly in his large, spartan office after having spent the day arguing with his fractious Parliament.

War and political uncertainty have very nearly destroyed the economy. The average wage in the country is 50 cents a month, down from $1 a month last fall.

Georgia issued its own currency, called the coupon, a year ago because it couldn't get enough rubles from Russia. The coupon, which was introduced at parity to the ruble, now sells for a million to the dollar, while the ruble trades for about 1,800 to the dollar.

Currency's demise

The demise of the currency has nearly destroyed the older generation. The pension of Tsiala Mchedlishvili, 64, is now worth 9 cents a month.

"I worked all my life in construction," she said as she walked along Leselidze street. "I had to haul cement and drag blocks.

"Now," she said, throwing her arms out, "nothing."

"My whole month's pension will only buy half a cup of yogurt," she said. "I can't afford meat, or even one egg. Look at these shoes."

Mrs. Mchedlishvili was ashamed to be seen wearing a frayed and faded red and blue wrap. She felt humiliated that she could no longer afford to go to the public baths or the dentist or the hairdresser.

NB Like other Georgians, Mrs. Mchedlishvili spent the winter with

intermittent electricity and without heat or hot water. Georgia can no longer afford to buy much fuel from Russia, another consequence of the breakup of the Soviet Union and one that prevents most factories from operating.

The heady rush of expectation that came with independence is long forgotten. "I can only hope for the young," she said, leaning back and folding her arms across her chest. "For me, nothing is going to happen. It's better to die than live like this."

While people suffer, the politicians hurl accusations at each other. Mr. Shevardnadze's nationalist critics accuse him of humiliating Georgia by crawling to Russia for help. Many Georgians loathe Russia, certain that it intends to rebuild its empire.

"They don't expect us to be their friends," said Tariel Dudouri, who works on Parliament's National Security Committee. "They expect us to be their slaves."

Russians are accused of fighting on the Abkhazian side -- an assertion diplomats here support -- to weaken Georgia so it would seek Russian protection and to sabotage Mr. Shevardnadze, who, paradoxically, is blamed by Russians, especially in the military, for destroying the Soviet Union.

In fact, as soon as Mr. Shevardnadze agreed to join the Commonwealth of Independent States and promised military bases to Russia, Russia intervened and put a stop to the fighting in Abkhazia.

A cease-fire was signed in Moscow May 14, but clashes still have been reported.

Suspicion of Russia runs deep in the Georgian soul. Many Georgian intellectuals and politicians laugh at the official explanation that a trigger-happy Georgian soldier killed Fred Woodruff, an American CIA official. Mr. Woodruff, who was advising the Georgian government on security, was in a car with a group of Georgian officials when he was hit by a bullet.

"Most people think the KGB did it," said Ghia Nodia, chairman of the Caucasian Institute for Peace, Democracy and Development. They think the Russians were warning the CIA to stay off their territory."

Georgia is important to Russia, said George Tarkhan-Mouravi, a member of the board of the institute, even though it shouldn't be.

"Rationally, Georgia would only weaken the ruble zone," he said. "Mostly, Russians feel a sense of loss, that they lost something that belonged to them."

Nodar Natadze, a member of Parliament and head of the nationalist Popular Front party, said Russia wants nothing less than the restoration of its empire.

"Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes," said Mr. Natadze, "they want the empire. The average Russian has no hope of prospering personally. He knows he'll never win in a peaceful competition with Germany or America. The only satisfaction he can feel as a man is to know Russia as a superpower and to know his country as all powerful.

"And if he can only achieve that by sacrificing democracy and his personal welfare, he will do it. The only way to lure the average Russian to democracy is to make him lose any hope of restoring the empire."

Vladimir V. Zemsky, Russia's ambassador to Georgia, denied that Russia has any wish to rebuild the empire. "We want a strong, healthy Georgia," he said. "Russia wants peace on its southern border."

Mr. Natadze, 65, a courtly linguistics professor, praised Mr. Shevardnadze for bringing Georgia out of international isolation. But he said he is too steeped in the past to save Georgia.

"He has a pro-Russia Communist mentality, which means whenever he is in grave crisis and has to take a very difficult decision, his first thought is directed toward Russia -- not to the world and not to his own country," Mr. Natadze said.

Mr. Shevardnadze counters that some criticize him for being too pro-Russian and others for not being pro-Russian enough.

'I'm a realist'

"I'm a realist," he said. "At this stage, only Russia can help. We have nothing. We don't even have guns for our police. There is no other way."

Georgia, a small nation of 5 million people, must find peace and stability to attract investment.

So far, there are only two signs of Western investment here: Coca Cola, which has lots of flashy advertisements but a market of paupers, and a lovely, four-star Austrian-built hotel -- a $175-a-day island of luxury.

"The country has tons of potential," said John G. Buyse, general manager of the Marco Polo Hotel. "Wherever you go you see fantastic, dramatic landscape. But right now trying to do business here is unbelievable. Things change every day. You don't know what's going to fall out of the sky."

The civil war provided him with some business -- his occupancy rate rose from 20 percent to 60 percent as journalists flocked in. ++ But he's also had to try to keep the hotel sparkling and welcoming when he had no electricity to provide a hot meal.

Getting a shipment of supplies from Turkey means sending a squad of heavily armed men to meet it at the border and defend it on the road to Tbilisi.

The general lawlessness has meant that organized criminals allied with various government officials have the upper hand. A sign at the hotel door asks all visitors to check their guns when they enter. Guests walk through a metal detector. Guards with submachine guns roam the grounds.

Recently, legislators got the right to arm themselves, but they have to check their guns when going into a parliamentary session. In fact, everyone seems to be able to afford guns except the police.

A few weeks ago the hotel's American chef, Tim Williams, fled. "I couldn't stand it anymore," he said. One mafia group set up four of its men in hotel rooms -- without payment. They came into the kitchen at all hours, demanding food and drink. If they don't like how a meal is prepared, someone gets beat up, he said.

Mr. Williams uncovered a scheme by another group, which had been selling meat to the hotel and misrepresenting the weight. "The next day, four men burst into my office and beat me up," he said. He had to go to Vienna to see an eye specialist.

Though police gradually have started to take back the streets, random terrorism continues. Recently a bomb went off in a theater before a children's play began. One child died and another was seriously injured. In April, the deputy minister of the interior was murdered on the street when seven men shot him in front of a school. In May, a small-town police chief was assassinated.

Back in the late 1970s it was Eduard Shevardnadze who persuaded his friend Mikhail S. Gorbachev that the Soviet system was rotten and needed rebuilding.

Now most of the world has forgotten those euphoric days of watching as an empire slowly freed itself of a repressive past.

A solitary figure

No one's thanking Mr. Shevardnadze any more, though Maria Barlett, a former music teacher in St. Mary's County, Maryland, who answers his English correspondence, says former U.S. Secretary of State James A. Baker III still writes.

In Georgia, Mr. Shevardnadze looks a tragic figure indeed.

He seems very alone in his large office, tired and dispirited, though pink-cheeked and charming as ever.

"Personally, I'd be happier if I could be in Gorbachev's situation," he said.

"But my personal happiness would be incompatible with my country's. I must be here if my country needs me."

And, while no one is thanking him here, no one can come up with a better alternative, either.

"Georgia must be saved," said Mr. Shevardnadze. "By whose hand it's saved is not important."