diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 813-h.zip | bin | 0 -> 65591 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 813-h/813-h.htm | 4226 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 813.txt | 3330 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 813.zip | bin | 0 -> 61654 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/rtlst09.txt | 2950 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/rtlst09.zip | bin | 0 -> 60691 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/rtlst10.txt | 3517 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/rtlst10.zip | bin | 0 -> 59723 bytes |
11 files changed, 14039 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/813-h.zip b/813-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..06b6446 --- /dev/null +++ b/813-h.zip diff --git a/813-h/813-h.htm b/813-h/813-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..02dc708 --- /dev/null +++ b/813-h/813-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4226 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="us-ascii"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Reminiscences of Tolstoy, by His Son + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Reminiscences of Tolstoy, by Ilya Tolstoy + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Reminiscences of Tolstoy + By His Son + +Author: Ilya Tolstoy + +Release Date: August 3, 2008 [EBook #813] +Last Updated: February 7, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK REMINISCENCES OF TOLSTOY *** + + + + +Produced by Judith Boss, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + REMINISCENCES OF TOLSTOY + </h1> + <h2> + BY HIS SON, + </h2> + <h2> + Count Ilya Tolstoy + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h3> + Translated By George Calderon + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>REMINISCENCES OF TOLSTOY (Part I.)</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> FAMILY LIFE IN THE COUNTRY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> THE SERVANTS IN THE HOUSE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> THE HOME OF THE TOLSTOYS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> A JOURNEY TO THE STEPPES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> OUTDOOR SPORTS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> "ANNA KARENINA" </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> <b>REMINISCENCES OF TOLSTOY (Part II.)</b> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> THE LETTER-BOX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> SERGEI NIKOLAYEVITCH TOLSTOY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> FET, STRAKHOF, GAY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> TURGENIEFF </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> <b>REMINISCENCES OF TOLSTOY (Part III.)</b> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> HELP FOR THE FAMINE-STRICKEN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> MY FATHER'S ILLNESS IN THE CRIMEA </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> MASHA'S DEATH </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> MY FATHER'S WILL. CONCLUSION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_FOOT"> FOOTNOTES </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + REMINISCENCES OF TOLSTOY (Part I.) + </h2> + <p> + IN one of his letters to his great-aunt, Alexandra Andreyevna Tolstoy, my + father gives the following description of his children: + </p> + <p> + The eldest [Sergei] is fair-haired and good-looking; there is something + weak and patient in his expression, and very gentle. His laugh is not + infectious; but when he cries, I can hardly refrain from crying, too. + Every one says he is like my eldest brother. + </p> + <p> + I am afraid to believe it. It is too good to be true. My brother's chief + characteristic was neither egotism nor self-renunciation, but a strict + mean between the two. He never sacrificed himself for any one else; but + not only always avoided injuring others, but also interfering with them. + He kept his happiness and his sufferings entirely to himself. + </p> + <p> + Ilya, the third, has never been ill in his life; broad-boned, white and + pink, radiant, bad at lessons. Is always thinking about what he is told + not to think about. Invents his own games. Hot-tempered and violent, wants + to fight at once; but is also tender-hearted and very sensitive. Sensuous; + fond of eating and lying still doing nothing. + </p> + <p> + Tanya [Tatyana] is eight years old. Every one says that she is like Sonya, + and I believe them, although I am pleased about that, too; I believe it + only because it is obvious. If she had been Adam's eldest daughter and he + had had no other children afterward, she would have passed a wretched + childhood. The greatest pleasure that she has is to look after children. + </p> + <p> + The fourth is Lyoff. Handsome, dexterous, good memory, graceful. Any + clothes fit him as if they had been made for him. Everything that others + do, he does very skilfully and well. Does not understand much yet. + </p> + <p> + The fifth, Masha [Mary] is two years old, the one whose birth nearly cost + Sonya her life. A weak and sickly child. Body white as milk, curly white + hair; big, queer blue eyes, queer by reason of their deep, serious + expression. Very intelligent and ugly. She will be one of the riddles; she + will suffer, she will seek and find nothing, will always be seeking what + is least attainable. + </p> + <p> + The sixth, Peter, is a giant, a huge, delightful baby in a mob-cap, turns + out his elbows, strives eagerly after something. My wife falls into an + ecstasy of agitation and emotion when she holds him in her arms; but I am + completely at a loss to understand. I know that he has a great store of + physical energy, but whether there is any purpose for which the store is + wanted I do not know. That is why I do not care for children under two or + three; I don't understand. + </p> + <p> + This letter was written in 1872, when I was six years old. My + recollections date from about that time. I can remember a few things + before. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FAMILY LIFE IN THE COUNTRY + </h2> + <p> + FROM my earliest childhood until the family moved into Moscow—that + was in 1881—all my life was spent, almost without a break, at + Yasnaya Polyana. + </p> + <p> + This is how we live. The chief personage in the house is my mother. She + settles everything. She interviews Nikolai, the cook, and orders dinner; + she sends us out for walks, makes our shirts, is always nursing some baby + at the breast; all day long she is bustling about the house with hurried + steps. One can be naughty with her, though she is sometimes angry and + punishes us. + </p> + <p> + She knows more about everything than anybody else. She knows that one must + wash every day, that one must eat soup at dinner, that one must talk + French, learn not to crawl about on all fours, not to put one's elbows on + the table; and if she says that one is not to go out walking because it is + just going to rain, she is sure to be right, and one must do as she says. + </p> + <p> + Papa is the cleverest man in the world. He always knows everything. There + is no being naughty with HIM. When he is up in his study "working," one is + not allowed to make a noise, and nobody may go into his room. What he does + when he is at "work," none of us know. Later on, when I had learned to + read, I was told that papa was a "writer." + </p> + <p> + This was how I learned. I was very pleased with some lines of poetry one + day, and asked my mother who wrote them. She told me they were written by + Pushkin, and Pushkin was a great writer. I was vexed at my father not + being one, too. Then my mother said that my father was also a well-known + writer, and I was very glad indeed. + </p> + <p> + At the dinner-table papa sits opposite mama and has his own round silver + spoon. When old Natalia Petrovna, who lives on the floor below with + great-aunt Tatyana Alexandrovna, pours herself out a glass of kvass, he + picks it up and drinks it right off, then says, "Oh, I'm so sorry, Natalia + Petrovna; I made a mistake!" We all laugh delightedly, and it seems odd + that papa is not in the least afraid of Natalia Petrovna. When there is + jelly for pudding, papa says it is good for gluing paper boxes; we run off + to get some paper, and papa makes it into boxes. Mama is angry, but he is + not afraid of her either. We have the gayest times imaginable with him now + and then. He can ride a horse better and run faster than anybody else, and + there is no one in the world so strong as he is. + </p> + <p> + He hardly ever punishes us, but when he looks me in the eyes he knows + everything that I think, and I am frightened. You can tell stories to + mama, but not to papa, because he will see through you at once. So nobody + ever tries. + </p> + <p> + Besides papa and mama, there was also Aunt Tatyana Alexandrovna Yergolsky. + In her room she had a big eikon with a silver mount. We were very much + afraid of this eikon, because it was very old and black. + </p> + <p> + When I was six, I remember my father teaching the village children. They + had their lessons in "the other house," <a href="#linknote-1" + name="linknoteref-1" id="linknoteref-1"><small>1</small></a> where Alexey + Stepanytch, the bailiff, lived, and sometimes on the ground floor of the + house we lived in. + </p> + <p> + There were a great number of village children who used to come. When they + came, the front hall smelled of sheepskin jackets; they were taught by + papa and Seryozha and Tanya and Uncle Kostya all at once. Lesson-time was + very gay and lively. + </p> + <p> + The children did exactly as they pleased, sat where they liked, ran about + from place to place, and answered questions not one by one, but all + together, interrupting one another, and helping one another to recall what + they had read. If one left out a bit, up jumped another and then another, + and the story or sum was reconstructed by the united efforts of the whole + class. + </p> + <p> + What pleased my father most about his pupils was the picturesqueness and + originality of their language. He never wanted a literal repetition of + bookish expressions, and particularly encouraged every one to speak "out + of his own head." I remember how once he stopped a boy who was running + into the next room. + </p> + <p> + "Where are YOU off to?" he asked. + </p> + <p> + "To uncle, to bite off a piece of chalk." <a href="#linknote-2" + name="linknoteref-2" id="linknoteref-2"><small>2</small></a> + </p> + <p> + "Cut along, cut along! It's not for us to teach them, but for them to + teach." + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE SERVANTS IN THE HOUSE + </h2> + <p> + WHEN my father married and brought home his young and inexperienced bride, + Sofya Andreyevna, to Yasnaya Polyana, Nikolai Mikhailovitch Rumyantsef was + already established as cook. Before my father's marriage he had a salary + of five rubles a month; but when my mother arrived, she raised him to six, + at which rate he continued the rest of his days; that is, till somewhere + about the end of the eighties. He was succeeded in the kitchen by his son, + Semyon Nikolayevitch, my mother's godson, and this worthy and beloved man, + companion of my childish games, still lives with us to this day. Under my + mother's supervision he prepared my father's vegetarian diet with + affectionate zeal, and without him my father would very likely never have + lived to the ripe old age he did. + </p> + <p> + Agafya Mikhailovna was an old woman who lived at first in the kitchen of + "the other house" and afterward on the home farm. Tall and thin, with big, + thoroughbred eyes, and long, straight hair, like a witch, turning gray, + she was rather terrifying, but more than anything else she was queer. + </p> + <p> + Once upon a time long ago she had been housemaid to my great-grandmother, + Countess Pelageya Nikolayevna Tolstoy, my father's grandmother, nee + Princess Gortchakova. She was fond of telling about her young days. She + would say: + </p> + <p> + I was very handsome. When there were gentlefolks visiting at the big + house, the countess would call me, 'Gachette [Agafya], femme de chambre, + apportez-moi un mouchoir!' Then I would say, 'Toute suite, Madame la + Comtesse!' And every one would be staring at me, and couldn't take their + eyes off. When I crossed over to the annex, there they were watching to + catch me on the way. Many a time have I tricked them—ran round the + other way and jumped over the ditch. I never liked that sort of thing any + time. A maid I was, a maid I am. + </p> + <p> + After my grandmother's death, Agafya Mikhailovna was sent on to the home + farm for some reason or other, and minded the sheep. She got so fond of + sheep that all her days after she never would touch mutton. + </p> + <p> + After the sheep, she had an affection for dogs, and that is the only + period of her life that I remember her in. + </p> + <p> + There was nothing in the world she cared about but dogs. She lived with + them in horrible dirt and smells, and gave up her whole mind and soul to + them. We always had setters, harriers, and borzois, and the whole kennel, + often very numerous, was under Agafya Mikhailovna's management, with some + boy or other to help her, usually one as clumsy and stupid as could be + found. + </p> + <p> + There are many interesting recollections bound up with the memory of this + intelligent and original woman. Most of them are associated in my mind + with my father's stories about her. He could always catch and unravel any + interesting psychological trait, and these traits, which he would mention + incidentally, stuck firmly in my mind. He used to tell, for instance, how + Agafya Mikhailovna complained to him of sleeplessness. + </p> + <p> + "Ever since I can remember her, she has suffered from 'a birch-tree + growing inside me from my belly up; it presses against my chest, and + prevents my breathing.' + </p> + <p> + "She complains of her sleeplessness and the birch-tree and says: 'There I + lay all alone and all quiet, only the clock ticking on the wall: "Who are + you? What are you? Who are you? What are you?" And I began to think: "Who + am I? What am I?" and so I spent the whole night thinking about it.' + </p> + <p> + "Why, imagine this is Socrates! 'Know thyself,'" said my father, telling + the story with great enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + In the summer-time my mother's brother, Styopa (Stephen Behrs), who was + studying at the time in the school of jurisprudence, used to come and stay + with us. In the autumn he used to go wolf-hunting with my father and us, + with the borzois, and Agafya Mikhailovna loved him for that. + </p> + <p> + Styopa's examination was in the spring. Agafya Mikhailovna knew about it + and anxiously waited for the news of whether he had got through. + </p> + <p> + Once she put up a candle before the eikon and prayed that Styopa might + pass. But at that moment she remembered that her borzois had got out and + had not come back to the kennels again. + </p> + <p> + "Saints in heaven! they'll get into some place and worry the cattle and do + a mischief!" she cried. "'Lord, let my candle burn for the dogs to come + back quick, and I'll buy another for Stepan Andreyevitch.' No sooner had I + said this to myself than I heard the dogs in the porch rattling their + collars. Thank God! they were back. That's what prayer can do." + </p> + <p> + Another favorite of Agafya Mikhailovna was a young man, Misha Stakhovitch, + who often stayed with us. + </p> + <p> + "See what you have been and done to me, little Countess!" she said + reproachfully to my sister Tanya: "you've introduced me to Mikhail + Alexandrovitch, and I've fallen in love with him in my old age, like a + wicked woman!" + </p> + <p> + On the fifth of February, her name-day, Agafya Mikhailovna received a + telegram of congratulation from Stakhovitch. + </p> + <p> + When my father heard of it, he said jokingly to Agafya Mikhailovna: + </p> + <p> + "Aren't you ashamed that a man had to trudge two miles through the frost + at night all for the sake of your telegram?" + </p> + <p> + "Trudge, trudge? Angels bore him on their wings. Trudge, indeed! You get + three telegrams from an outlandish Jew woman," she growled, "and telegrams + every day about your Golokhvotika. Never a trudge then; but I get name-day + greetings, and it's trudge!" + </p> + <p> + And one could not but acknowledge that she was right. This telegram, the + only one in the whole year that was addressed to the kennels, by the + pleasure it gave Agafya Mikhailovna was far more important of course than + this news or the about a ball given in Moscow in honor of a Jewish + banker's daughter, or about Olga Andreyevna Golokvastovy's arrival at + Yasnaya. + </p> + <p> + Agafya Mikhailovna died at the beginning of the nineties. There were no + more hounds or sporting dogs at Yasnaya then, but till the end of her days + she gave shelter to a motley collection of mongrels, and tended and fed + them. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE HOME OF THE TOLSTOYS + </h2> + <p> + I CAN remember the house at Yasnaya Polyana in the condition it was in the + first years after my father's marriage. + </p> + <p> + It was one of the two-storied wings of the old mansion-house of the + Princes Volkonsky, which my father had sold for pulling down when he was + still a bachelor. + </p> + <p> + From what my father has told me, I know that the house in which he was + born and spent his youth was a three-storied building with thirty-six + rooms. On the spot where it stood, between the two wings, the remains of + the old stone foundation are still visible in the form of trenches filled + with rubble, and the site is covered with big sixty-year-old trees that my + father himself planted. + </p> + <p> + When any one asked my father where he was born, he used to point to a tall + larch which grew on the site of the old foundations. + </p> + <p> + "Up there where the top of that larch waves," he used to say; "that's + where my mother's room was, where I was born on a leather sofa." + </p> + <p> + My father seldom spoke of his mother, but when he did, it was delightful + to hear him, because the mention of her awoke an unusual strain of + gentleness and tenderness in him. There was such a ring of respectful + affection, so much reverence for her memory, in his words, that we all + looked on her as a sort of saint. + </p> + <p> + My father remembered his father well, because he was already nine years + old when he died. He loved him, too, and always spoke of him reverently; + but one always felt that his mother's memory, although he had never known + her, was dearer to him, and his love for her far greater than for his + father. + </p> + <p> + Even to this day I do not exactly know the story of the sale of the old + house. My father never liked talking about it, and for that reason I could + never make up my mind to ask him the details of the transaction. I only + know that the house was sold for five thousand paper rubles <a + href="#linknote-3" name="linknoteref-3" id="linknoteref-3"><small>3</small></a> + by one of his relatives, who had charge of his affairs by power of + attorney when he was in the Caucasus. + </p> + <p> + It was said to have been done in order to pay off my father's gambling + debts. That was quite true. + </p> + <p> + My father himself told me that at one time he was a great card-player, + that he lost large sums of money, and that his financial affairs were + considerably embarrassed. + </p> + <p> + The only thing about which I am in doubt is whether it was with my + father's knowledge or by his directions that the house was sold, or + whether the relative in question did not exceed his instructions and + decide on the sale of his own initiative. + </p> + <p> + My father cherished his parents' memory to such an extent, and had such a + warm affection for everything relating to his own childhood, that it is + hard to believe that he would have raised his hand against the house in + which he had been born and brought up and in which his mother had spent + her whole life. + </p> + <p> + Knowing my father as I do, I think it is highly possible that he wrote to + his relative from the Caucasus, "Sell something," not in the least + expecting that he would sell the house, and that he afterward took the + blame for it on himself. Is that not the reason why he was always so + unwilling to talk about it? + </p> + <p> + In 1871, when I was five years old, the zala <a href="#linknote-4" + name="linknoteref-4" id="linknoteref-4"><small>4</small></a> and study + were built on the house. + </p> + <p> + The walls of the zala were hung with old portraits of ancestors. They were + rather alarming, and I was afraid of them at first; but we got used to + them after a time, and I grew fond of one of them, of my + great-grandfather, Ilya Andreyevitch Tolstoy, because I was told that I + was like him. + </p> + <p> + Beside him hung the portrait of another great-grandfather, Prince Nikolai + Sergeyevitch Volkonsky, my grandmother's father, with thick, black + eyebrows, a gray wig, and a red kaftan. <a href="#linknote-5" + name="linknoteref-5" id="linknoteref-5"><small>5</small></a> + </p> + <p> + This Volkonsky built all the buildings of Yasnaya Polyana. He was a model + squire, intelligent and proud, and enjoyed the great respect of all the + neighborhood. + </p> + <p> + On the ground floor, under the drawing-room, next to the entrance-hall, my + father built his study. He had a semi-circular niche made in the wall, and + stood a marble bust of his favorite dead brother Nikolai in it. This bust + was made abroad from a death-mask, and my father told us that it was very + like, because it was done by a good sculptor, according to his own + directions. + </p> + <p> + He had a kind and rather plaintive face. The hair was brushed smooth like + a child's, with the parting on one side. He had no beard or mustache, and + his head was white and very, very clean. My father's study was divided in + two by a partition of big bookshelves, containing a multitude of all sorts + of books. In order to support them, the shelves were connected by big + wooden beams, and between them was a thin birch-wood door, behind which + stood my father's writing-table and his old-fashioned semicircular + arm-chair. + </p> + <p> + There are portraits of Dickens and Schopenhauer and Fet <a + href="#linknote-6" name="linknoteref-6" id="linknoteref-6"><small>6</small></a> + as a young man on the walls, too, and the well-known group of writers of + the Sovremennik <a href="#linknote-7" name="linknoteref-7" + id="linknoteref-7"><small>7</small></a> circle in 1856, with Turgenieff, + Ostrovsky, Gontcharof, Grigorovitch, Druzhinin, and my father, quite young + still, without a beard, and in uniform. + </p> + <p> + My father used to come out of his bedroom of a morning—it was in a + corner on the top floor—in his dressing-gown, with his beard + uncombed and tumbled together, and go down to dress. + </p> + <p> + Soon after he would issue from his study fresh and vigorous, in a gray + smock-frock, and would go up into the zala for breakfast. That was our + dejeuner. + </p> + <p> + When there was nobody staying in the house, he would not stop long in the + drawing-room, but would take his tumbler of tea and carry it off to his + study with him. + </p> + <p> + But if there were friends and guests with us, he would get into + conversation, become interested, and could not tear himself away. + </p> + <p> + At last he would go off to his work, and we would disperse, in winter to + the different school-rooms, in summer to the croquet-lawn or somewhere + about the garden. My mother would settle down in the drawing-room to make + some garment for the babies, or to copy out something she had not finished + overnight; and till three or four in the afternoon silence would reign in + the house. + </p> + <p> + Then my father would come out of his study and go off for his afternoon's + exercise. Sometimes he would take a dog and a gun, sometimes ride, and + sometimes merely go for a walk to the imperial wood. + </p> + <p> + At five the big bell that hung on the broken bough of an old elm-tree in + front of the house would ring and we would all run to wash our hands and + collect for dinner. + </p> + <p> + He was very hungry, and ate voraciously of whatever turned up. My mother + would try to stop him, would tell him not to waste all his appetite on + kasha, because there were chops and vegetables to follow. "You'll have a + bad liver again," she would say; but he would pay no attention to her, and + would ask for more and more, until his hunger was completely satisfied. + Then he would tell us all about his walk, where he put up a covey of black + game, what new paths he discovered in the imperial wood beyond Kudeyarof + Well, or, if he rode, how the young horse he was breaking in began to + understand the reins and the pressure of the leg. All this he would relate + in the most vivid and entertaining way, so that the time passed gaily and + animatedly. + </p> + <p> + After dinner he would go back to his room to read, and at eight we had + tea, and the best hours of the day began—the evening hours, when + everybody gathered in the zala. The grown-ups talked or read aloud or + played the piano, and we either listened to them or had some jolly game of + our own, and in anxious fear awaited the moment when the English + grandfather-clock on the landing would give a click and a buzz, and slowly + and clearly ring out ten. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps mama would not notice? She was in the sitting-room, making a copy. + </p> + <p> + "Come, children, bedtime! Say good night," she would call. + </p> + <p> + "In a minute, Mama; just five minutes." + </p> + <p> + "Run along; it's high time; or there will be no getting you up in the + morning to do your lessons." + </p> + <p> + We would say a lingering good night, on the lookout for any chance for + delay, and at last would go down-stairs through the arches, annoyed at the + thought that we were children still and had to go to bed while the + grown-ups could stay up as long as ever they liked. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A JOURNEY TO THE STEPPES + </h2> + <p> + WHEN I was still a child and had not yet read "War and Peace," I was told + that NATASHA ROSTOF was Aunt Tanya. When my father was asked whether that + was true, and whether DMITRY ROSTOF was such and such a person and LEVIN + such and such another, he never gave a definite answer, and one could not + but feel that he disliked such questions and was rather offended by them. + </p> + <p> + In those remote days about which I am talking, my father was very keen + about the management of his estate, and devoted a lot of energy to it. I + can remember his planting the huge apple orchard at Yasnaya and several + hundred acres of birch and pine forest, and at the beginning of the + seventies, for a number of years, he was interested in buying up land + cheap in the province of Samara, and breeding droves of steppe horses and + flocks of sheep. + </p> + <p> + I still have pretty clear, though rather fragmentary and inconsequent, + recollections of our three summer excursions to the steppes of Samara. + </p> + <p> + My father had already been there before his marriage in 1862, and + afterward by the advice of Dr. Zakharyin, who attended him. He took the + kumiss-cure in 1871 and 1872, and at last, in 1873, the whole family went + there. + </p> + <p> + At that time my father had bought several hundred acres of cheap Bashkir + lands in the district of Buzuluk, and we went to stay on our new property + at a khutor, or farm. + </p> + <p> + In Samara we lived on the farm in a tumble-down wooden house, and beside + us, in the steppe, were erected two felt kibitkas, or Tatar frame tents, + in which our Bashkir, Muhammed Shah Romanytch, lived with his wives. + </p> + <p> + Morning and evening they used to tie the mares up outside the kibitkas, + where they were milked by veiled women, who then hid themselves from the + sight of the men behind a brilliant chintz curtain, and made the kumiss. + </p> + <p> + The kumiss was bitter and very nasty, but my father and my uncle Stephen + Behrs were very fond of it, and drank it in large quantities. + </p> + <p> + When we boys began to get big, we had at first a German tutor for two or + three years, Fyodor Fyodorovitch Kaufmann. + </p> + <p> + I cannot say that we were particularly fond of him. He was rather rough, + and even we children were struck by his German stupidity. His redeeming + feature was that he was a devoted sportsman. Every morning he used to jerk + the blankets off us and shout, "Auf, Kinder! auf!" and during the daytime + plagued us with German calligraphy. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + OUTDOOR SPORTS + </h2> + <p> + THE chief passion of my childhood was riding. I well remember the time + when my father used to put me in the saddle in front of him and we would + ride out to bathe in the Voronka. I have several interesting recollections + connected with these rides. + </p> + <p> + One day as we were going to bathe, papa turned round and said to me: + </p> + <p> + "Do you know, Ilyusha, I am very pleased with myself to-day. I have been + bothered with her for three whole days, and could not manage to make her + go into the house; try as I would, it was impossible. It never would come + right. But to-day I remembered that there is a mirror in every hall, and + that every lady wears a bonnet. + </p> + <p> + "As soon as I remembered that, she went where I wanted her to, and did + everything she had to. You would think a bonnet is a small affair, but + everything depended on that bonnet." + </p> + <p> + As I recall this conversation, I feel sure that my father was talking + about that scene in "Anna Karenina" where ANNA went to see her son. + </p> + <p> + Although in the final form of the novel nothing is said in this scene + either about a bonnet or a mirror,—nothing is mentioned but a thick + black veil,—still, I imagine that in its original form, when he was + working on the passage, my father may have brought Anna up to the mirror, + and made her straighten her bonnet or take it off. + </p> + <p> + I can remember the interest with which he told me this, and it now seems + strange that he should have talked about such subtle artistic experiences + to a boy of seven who was hardly capable of understanding him at the time. + However, that was often the case with him. + </p> + <p> + I once heard from him a very interesting description of what a writer + needs for his work: + </p> + <p> + "You cannot imagine how important one's mood is," he said. "Sometimes you + get up in the morning, fresh and vigorous, with your head clear, and you + begin to write. Everything is sensible and consistent. You read it over + next day, and have to throw the whole thing away, because, good as it is, + it misses the main thing. There is no imagination in it, no subtlety, none + of the necessary something, none of that only just without which all your + cleverness is worth nothing. Another day you get up after a bad night, + with your nerves all on edge, and you think, 'To-day I shall write well, + at any rate.' And as a matter of fact, what you write is beautiful, + picturesque, with any amount of imagination. You look it through again; it + is no good, because it is written stupidly. There is plenty of color, but + not enough intelligence. + </p> + <p> + "One's writing is good only when the intelligence and the imagination are + in equilibrium. As soon as one of them overbalances the other, it's all + up; you may as well throw it away and begin afresh." + </p> + <p> + As a matter of fact, there was no end to the rewriting in my father's + works. His industry in this particular was truly marvelous. + </p> + <p> + We were always devoted to sport from our earliest childhood. I can + remember as well as I remember myself my father's favorite dog in those + days, an Irish setter called Dora. They would bring round the cart, with a + very quiet horse between the shafts, and we would drive out to the marsh, + to Degatna or to Malakhov. My father and sometimes my mother or a coachman + sat on the seat, while I and Dora lay on the floor. + </p> + <p> + When we got to the marsh, my father used to get out, stand his gun on the + ground, and, holding it with his left hand, load it. + </p> + <p> + Dora meanwhile fidgeted about, whining impatiently and wagging her thick + tail. + </p> + <p> + While my father splashed through the marsh, we drove round the bank + somewhat behind him, and eagerly followed the ranging of the dog, the + getting up of the snipe, and the shooting. My father sometimes shot fairly + well, though he often lost his head, and missed frantically. + </p> + <p> + But our favorite sport was coursing with greyhounds. What a pleasure it + was when the footman Sergei Petrovitch came in and woke us up before dawn, + with a candle in his hand! + </p> + <p> + We jumped up full of energy and happiness, trembling all over in the + morning cold; threw on our clothes as quickly as we could, and ran out + into the zala, where the samovar was boiling and papa was waiting for us. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes mama came in in her dressing-gown, and made us put on all sorts + of extra woolen stockings, and sweaters and gloves. + </p> + <p> + "What are you going to wear, Lyovotchka?" she would say to papa. "It's + very cold to-day, and there is a wind. Only the Kuzminsky overcoat again + today? You must put on something underneath, if only for my sake." + </p> + <p> + Papa would make a face, but give in at last, and buckle on his short gray + overcoat under the other and sally forth. It would then be growing light. + Our horses were brought round, we got on, and rode first to "the other + house," or to the kennels to get the dogs. + </p> + <p> + Agafya Mikhailovna would be anxiously waiting us on the steps. Despite the + coldness of the morning, she would be bareheaded and lightly clad, with + her black jacket open, showing her withered, old bosom. She carried the + dog-collars in her lean, knotted hands. + </p> + <p> + "Have you gone and fed them again?" asks my father, severely, looking at + the dogs' bulging stomachs. + </p> + <p> + "Fed them? Not a bit; only just a crust of bread apiece." + </p> + <p> + "Then what are they licking their chops for?" + </p> + <p> + "There was a bit of yesterday's oatmeal left over." + </p> + <p> + "I thought as much! All the hares will get away again. It really is too + bad! Do you do it to spite me?" + </p> + <p> + "You can't have the dogs running all day on empty stomachs, Lyoff + Nikolaievich," she grunted, going angrily to put on the dogs' collars. + </p> + <p> + At last the dogs were got together, some of them on leashes, others + running free; and we would ride out at a brisk trot past Bitter Wells and + the grove into the open country. + </p> + <p> + My father would give the word of command, "Line out!" and point out the + direction in which we were to go, and we spread out over the stubble + fields and meadows, whistling and winding about along the lee side of the + steep balks, <a href="#linknote-8" name="linknoteref-8" id="linknoteref-8"><small>8</small></a> + beating all the bushes with our hunting-crops, and gazing keenly at every + spot or mark on the earth. + </p> + <p> + Something white would appear ahead. We stared hard at it, gathered up the + reins, examined the leash, scarcely believing the good luck of having come + on a hare at last. Then riding up closer and closer, with our eyes on the + white thing, it would turn out to be not a hare at all, but a horse's + skull. How annoying! + </p> + <p> + We would look at papa and Seryozha, thinking, "I wonder if they saw that I + took that skull for a hare." But papa would be sitting keen and alert on + his English saddle, with the wooden stirrups, smoking a cigarette, while + Seryozha would perhaps have got his leash entangled and could not get it + straight. + </p> + <p> + "Thank heaven!" we would exclaim, "nobody saw me! What a fool I should + have felt!" So we would ride on. + </p> + <p> + The horse's even pace would begin to rock us to sleep, feeling rather + bored at nothing getting up; when all of a sudden, just at the moment we + least expected it, right in front of us, twenty paces away, would jump up + a gray hare as if from the bowels of the earth. + </p> + <p> + The dogs had seen it before we had, and had started forward already in + full pursuit. We began to bawl, "Tally-ho! tally-ho!" like madmen, + flogging our horses with all our might, and flying after them. + </p> + <p> + The dogs would come up with the hare, turn it, then turn it again, the + young and fiery Sultan and Darling running over it, catching up again, and + running over again; and at last the old and experienced Winger, who had + been galloping on one side all the time, would seize her opportunity, and + spring in. The hare would give a helpless cry like a baby, and the dogs, + burying their fangs in it, in a star-shaped group, would begin to tug in + different directions. + </p> + <p> + "Let go! Let go!" + </p> + <p> + We would come galloping up, finish off the hare, and give the dogs the + tracks, <a href="#linknote-9" name="linknoteref-9" id="linknoteref-9"><small>9</small></a> + tearing them off toe by toe, and throwing them to our favorites, who would + catch them in the air. Then papa would teach us how to strap the hare on + the back of the saddle. + </p> + <p> + After the run we would all be in better spirits, and get to better places + near Yasenki and Retinka. Gray hares would get up oftener. Each of us + would have his spoils in the saddle-straps now, and we would begin to hope + for a fox. + </p> + <p> + Not many foxes would turn up. If they did, it was generally Tumashka, who + was old and staid, who distinguished himself. He was sick of hares, and + made no great effort to run after them; but with a fox he would gallop at + full speed, and it was almost always he who killed. + </p> + <p> + It would be late, often dark, when we got back home. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + "ANNA KARENINA" + </h2> + <p> + I REMEMBER my father writing his alphabet and reading-book in 1871 and + 1872, but I cannot at all remember his beginning "Anna Karenina." I + probably knew nothing about it at the time. What did it matter to a boy of + seven what his father was writing? It was only later, when one kept + hearing the name again and again, and bundles of proofs kept arriving, and + were sent off almost every day, that I understood that "Anna Karenina" was + the name of the novel on which my father and mother were both at work. + </p> + <p> + My mother's work seemed much harder than my father's, because we actually + saw her at it, and she worked much longer hours than he did. She used to + sit in the sitting-room off the zala, at her little writing-table, and + spend all her free time writing. + </p> + <p> + Leaning over the manuscript and trying to decipher my father's scrawl with + her short-sighted eyes, she used to spend whole evenings over it, and + often sat up late at night after everybody else had gone to bed. + Sometimes, when anything was written quite illegibly, she would go to my + father's study and ask him what it meant. But this was very rare, because + my mother did not like to disturb him. + </p> + <p> + When it happened, my father used to take the manuscript in his hand, and + ask with some annoyance, "What on earth is the difficulty?" and would + begin to read it out aloud. When he came to the difficult place he would + mumble and hesitate, and sometimes had the greatest difficulty in making + out, or, rather, in guessing, what he had written. He had a very bad + handwriting, and a terrible habit of writing in whole sentences between + the lines, or in the corners of the page, or sometimes right across it. + </p> + <p> + My mother often discovered gross grammatical errors, and pointed them out + to my father, and corrected them. + </p> + <p> + When "Anna Karenina" began to come out in the "Russky Vyestnik," <a + href="#linknote-10" name="linknoteref-10" id="linknoteref-10"><small>10</small></a> + long galley-proofs were posted to my father, and he looked them through + and corrected them. + </p> + <p> + At first the margins would be marked with the ordinary typographical + signs, letters omitted, marks of punctuation, etc.; then individual words + would be changed, and then whole sentences, till in the end the + proof-sheet would be reduced to a mass of patches quite black in places, + and it was quite impossible to send it back as it stood, because no one + but my mother could make head or tail of the tangle of conventional signs, + transpositions, and erasures. + </p> + <p> + My mother would sit up all night copying the whole thing out afresh. + </p> + <p> + In the morning there would lie the pages on her table, neatly piled + together, covered all over with her fine, clear handwriting, and + everything ready so that when "Lyovotchka" got up he could send the + proof-sheets off by post. + </p> + <p> + My father carried them off to his study to have "just one last look," and + by the evening it would be just as bad again, the whole thing having been + rewritten and messed up. + </p> + <p> + "Sonya my dear, I am very sorry, but I've spoiled all your work again; I + promise I won't do it any more," he would say, showing her the passages he + had inked over with a guilty air. "We'll send them off to-morrow without + fail." But this to-morrow was often put off day by day for weeks or months + together. + </p> + <p> + "There's just one bit I want to look through again," my father would say; + but he would get carried away and recast the whole thing afresh. + </p> + <p> + There were even occasions when, after posting the proofs, he would + remember some particular words next day, and correct them by telegraph. + Several times, in consequence of these rewritings, the printing of the + novel in the "Russky Vyestnik" was interrupted, and sometimes it did not + come out for months together. + </p> + <p> + In the last part of "Anna Karenina" my father, in describing the end of + VRONSKY'S career, showed his disapproval of the volunteer movement and the + Panslavonic committees, and this led to a quarrel with Katkof. + </p> + <p> + I can remember how angry my father was when Katkof refused to print those + chapters as they stood, and asked him either to leave out part of them or + to soften them down, and finally returned the manuscript, and printed a + short note in his paper to say that after the death of the heroine the + novel was strictly speaking at an end; but that the author had added an + epilogue of two printed sheets, in which he related such and such facts, + and he would very likely "develop these chapters for the separate edition + of his novel." + </p> + <p> + In concluding, I wish to say a few words about my father's own opinion of + "Anna Karenina." + </p> + <p> + In 1875 he wrote to N. N. Strakhof: + </p> + <p> + "I must confess that I was delighted by the success of the last piece of + 'Anna Karenina.' I had by no means expected it, and to tell you the truth, + I am surprised that people are so pleased with such ordinary and EMPTY + stuff." + </p> + <p> + The same year he wrote to Fet: + </p> + <p> + "It is two months since I have defiled my hands with ink or my heart with + thoughts. But now I am setting to work again on my TEDIOUS, VULGAR 'ANNA + KARENINA,' with only one wish, to clear it out of the way as soon as + possible and give myself leisure for other occupations, but not + schoolmastering, which I am fond of, but wish to give up; it takes up too + much time." + </p> + <p> + In 1878, when the novel was nearing its end, he wrote again to Strakhof: + </p> + <p> + "I am frightened by the feeling that I am getting into my summer mood + again. I LOATHE what I have written. The proof-sheets for the April number + [of "Anna Karenina" in the "Russky Vyestnik"] now lie on my table, and I + am afraid that I have not the heart to correct them. EVERYTHING in them is + BEASTLY, and the whole thing ought to be rewritten,—all that has + been printed, too,—scrapped and melted down, thrown away, renounced. + I ought to say, 'I am sorry; I will not do it any more,' and try to write + something fresh instead of all this incoherent, + neither-fish-nor-flesh-nor-fowlish stuff." + </p> + <p> + That was how my father felt toward his novel while he was writing it. + Afterward I often heard him say much harsher things about it. + </p> + <p> + "What difficulty is there in writing about how an officer fell in love + with a married woman?" he used to say. "There's no difficulty in it, and + above all no good in it." + </p> + <p> + I am quite convinced that if my father could have done so, he long ago + would have destroyed this novel, which he never liked and always wanted to + disown. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + (To be continued) +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + REMINISCENCES OF TOLSTOY (Part II.) + </h2> + <h3> + BY HIS SON, COUNT ILYA TOLSTOY + </h3> + <p> + TRANSLATED BY GEORGE CALDERON + </p> + <p> + IN the summer, when both families were together at Yasnaya, our own and + the Kuzminsky's, when both the house and the annex were full of the family + and their guests, we used our letter-box. + </p> + <p> + It originated long before, when I was still small and had only just + learned to write, and it continued with intervals till the middle of the + eighties. + </p> + <p> + It hung on the landing at the top of the stairs beside the grandfather's + clock; and every one dropped his compositions into it, the verses, + articles, or stories that he had written on topical subjects in the course + of the week. + </p> + <p> + On Sundays we would all collect at the round table in the zala, the box + would be solemnly opened, and one of the grown-ups, often my father + himself, would read the contents aloud. + </p> + <p> + All the papers were unsigned, and it was a point of honor not to peep at + the handwriting; but, despite this, we almost always guessed the author, + either by the style, by his self-consciousness, or else by the strained + indifference of his expression. + </p> + <p> + When I was a boy, and for the first time wrote a set of French verses for + the letter-box, I was so shy when they were read that I hid under the + table, and sat there the whole evening until I was pulled out by force. + </p> + <p> + For a long time after, I wrote no more, and was always fonder of hearing + other people's compositions read than my own. + </p> + <p> + All the events of our life at Yasnaya Polyana found their echo in one way + or another in the letter-box, and no one was spared, not even the + grown-ups. + </p> + <p> + All our secrets, all our love-affairs, all the incidents of our + complicated life were revealed in the letter-box, and both household and + visitors were good-humoredly made fun of. + </p> + <p> + Unfortunately, much of the correspondence has been lost, but bits of it + have been preserved by some of us in copies or in memory. I cannot recall + everything interesting that there was in it, but here are a few of the + more interesting things from the period of the eighties. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LETTER-BOX + </h2> + <p> + THE old fogy continues his questions. Why, when women or old men enter the + room, does every well-bred person not only offer them a seat, but give + them up his own? + </p> + <p> + Why do they make Ushakof or some Servian officer who comes to pay a visit + necessarily stay to tea or dinner? + </p> + <p> + Why is it considered wrong to let an older person or a woman help you on + with your overcoat? + </p> + <p> + And why are all these charming rules considered obligatory toward others, + when every day ordinary people come, and we not only do not ask them to + sit down or to stop to dinner or spend the night or render them any + service, but would look on it as the height of impropriety? + </p> + <p> + Where do those people end to whom we are under these obligations? By what + characteristics are the one sort distinguished from the others? And are + not all these rules of politeness bad, if they do not extend to all sorts + of people? And is not what we call politeness an illusion, and a very ugly + illusion? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LYOFF TOLSTOY. +</pre> + <p> + Question: Which is the most "beastly plague," a cattle-plague case for a + farmer, or the ablative case for a school-boy? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LYOFF TOLSTOY. +</pre> + <p> + Answers are requested to the following questions: + </p> + <p> + Why do Ustyusha, Masha, Alyona, Peter, etc., have to bake, boil, sweep, + empty slops, wait at table, while the gentry have only to eat, gobble, + quarrel, make slops, and eat again? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LYOFF TOLSTOY. +</pre> + <p> + My Aunt Tanya, when she was in a bad temper because the coffee-pot had + been spilt or because she had been beaten at croquet, was in the habit of + sending every one to the devil. My father wrote the following story, + "Susoitchik," about it. + </p> + <p> + The devil, not the chief devil, but one of the rank and file, the one + charged with the management of social affairs, Susoitchik by name, was + greatly perturbed on the 6th of August, 1884. From the early morning + onward, people kept arriving who had been sent him by Tatyana Kuzminsky. + </p> + <p> + The first to arrive was Alexander Mikhailovitch Kuzminsky; the second was + Misha Islavin; the third was Vyatcheslaf; the fourth was Seryozha Tolstoy, + and last of all came old Lyoff Tolstoy, senior, accompanied by Prince + Urusof. The first visitor, Alexander Mikhailovitch, caused Susoitchik no + surprise, as he often paid Susoitchik visits in obedience to the behests + of his wife. + </p> + <p> + "What, has your wife sent you again?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes," replied the presiding judge of the district-court, shyly, not + knowing what explanation he could give of the cause of his visit. + </p> + <p> + "You come here very often. What do you want?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, nothing in particular; she just sent her compliments," murmured + Alexander Mikhailovitch, departing from the exact truth with some effort. + </p> + <p> + "Very good, very good; come whenever you like; she is one of my best + workers." + </p> + <p> + Before Susoitchik had time to show the judge out, in came all the + children, laughing and jostling, and hiding one behind the other. + </p> + <p> + "What brought you here, youngsters? Did my little Tanyitchka send you? + That's right; no harm in coming. Give my compliments to Tanya, and tell + her that I am always at her service. Come whenever you like. Old + Susoitchik may be of use to you." + </p> + <p> + No sooner had the young folk made their bow than old Lyoff Tolstoy + appeared with Prince Urusof. + </p> + <p> + "Aha! so it's the old boy! Many thanks to Tanyitchka. It's a long time + since I have seen you, old chap. Well and hearty? And what can I do for + you?" + </p> + <p> + Lyoff Tolstoy shuffled about, rather abashed. + </p> + <p> + Prince Urusof, mindful of the etiquette of diplomatic receptions, stepped + forward and explained Tolstoy's appearance by his wish to make + acquaintance with Tatyana Andreyevna's oldest and most faithful friend. + </p> + <p> + "Les amis des nos amis sont nos amis." + </p> + <p> + "Ha! ha! ha! quite so!" said Susoitchik. "I must reward her for to-day's + work. Be so kind, Prince, as to hand her the marks of my good-will." + </p> + <p> + And he handed over the insignia of an order in a morocco case. The + insignia consisted of a necklace of imp's tails to be worn about the + throat, and two toads, one to be worn on the bosom and the other on the + bustle. + </p> + <p> + LYOFF TOLSTOY, SENIOR. <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SERGEI NIKOLAYEVITCH TOLSTOY + </h2> + <p> + I CAN remember my Uncle Seryozha (Sergei) from my earliest childhood. He + lived at Pirogovo, twenty miles from Yasnaya, and visited us often. + </p> + <p> + As a young man he was very handsome. He had the same features as my + father, but he was slenderer and more aristocratic-looking. He had the + same oval face, the same nose, the same intelligent gray eyes, and the + same thick, overhanging eyebrows. The only difference between his face and + my father's was defined by the fact that in those distant days, when my + father cared for his personal appearance, he was always worrying about his + ugliness, while Uncle Seryozha was considered, and really was, a very + handsome man. + </p> + <p> + This is what my father says about Uncle Seryozha in his fragmentary + reminiscences: + </p> + <p> + "I and Nitenka <a href="#linknote-11" name="linknoteref-11" + id="linknoteref-11"><small>11</small></a> were chums, Nikolenka I revered, + but Seryozha I admired enthusiastically and imitated; I loved him and + wished to be he. + </p> + <p> + "I admired his handsome exterior, his singing,—he was always a + singer,—his drawing, his gaiety, and above all, however strange a + thing it may seem to say, the directness of his egoism. <a + href="#linknote-12" name="linknoteref-12" id="linknoteref-12"><small>12</small></a> + </p> + <p> + "I always remembered myself, was aware of myself, always divined rightly + or wrongly what others thought about me and felt toward me; and this + spoiled the joy of life for me. This was probably the reason why I + particularly delighted in the opposite of this in other people; namely, + directness of egoism. That is what I especially loved in Seryozha, though + the word 'loved' is inexact. + </p> + <p> + "I loved Nikolenka, but I admired Seryozha as something alien and + incomprehensible to me. It was a human life very beautiful, but completely + incomprehensible to me, mysterious, and therefore especially attractive. + </p> + <p> + "He died only a few days ago, and while he was ill and while he was dying + he was just as inscrutable and just as dear to me as he had been in the + distant days of our childhood. + </p> + <p> + "In these latter days, in our old age, he was fonder of me, valued my + attachment more, was prouder of me, wanted to agree with me, but could + not, and remained just the same as he had always been; namely, something + quite apart, only himself, handsome, aristocratic, proud, and, above all, + truthful and sincere to a degree that I never met in any other man. + </p> + <p> + "He was what he was; he concealed nothing, and did not wish to appear + anything different." + </p> + <p> + Uncle Seryozha never treated children affectionately; on the contrary, he + seemed to put up with us rather than to like us. But we always treated him + with particular reverence. The result, as I can see now, partly of his + aristocratic appearance, but chiefly because of the fact that he called my + father "Lyovotchka" and treated him just as my father treated us. + </p> + <p> + He was not only not in the least afraid of him, but was always teasing + him, and argued with him like an elder person with a younger. We were + quite alive to this. + </p> + <p> + Of course every one knew that there were no faster dogs in the world than + our black-and-white Darling and her daughter Wizard. Not a hare could get + away from them. But Uncle Seryozha said that the gray hares about us were + sluggish creatures, not at all the same thing as steppe hares, and neither + Darling nor Wizard would get near a steppe hare. + </p> + <p> + We listened with open mouths, and did not know which to believe, papa or + Uncle Seryozha. + </p> + <p> + Uncle Seryozha went out coursing with us one day. A number of gray hares + were run down, not one, getting away; Uncle Seryozha expressed no + surprise, but still maintained that the only reason was because they were + a poor lot of hares. We could not tell whether he was right or wrong. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps, after all, he was right, for he was more of a sportsman than papa + and had run down ever so many wolves, while we had never known papa run + any wolves down. + </p> + <p> + Afterward papa kept dogs only because there was Agafya Mikhailovna to be + thought of, and Uncle Seryozha gave up sport because it was impossible to + keep dogs. + </p> + <p> + "Since the emancipation of the peasants," he said, "sport is out of the + question; there are no huntsmen to be had, and the peasants turn out with + sticks and drive the sportsmen off the fields. What is there left to do + nowadays? Country life has become impossible." + </p> + <p> + With all his good breeding and sincerity, Uncle Seryozha never concealed + any characteristic but one; with the utmost shyness he concealed the + tenderness of his affections, and if it ever forced itself into the light, + it was only in exceptional circumstances and that against his will. + </p> + <p> + He displayed with peculiar clearness a family characteristic which was + partly shared by my father, namely, an extraordinary restraint in the + expression of affection, which was often concealed under the mask of + indifference and sometimes even of unexpected harshness. In the matter of + wit and sarcasm, on the other hand, he was strikingly original. + </p> + <p> + At one period he spent several winters in succession with his family in + Moscow. One time, after a historic concert given by Anton Rubinstein, at + which Uncle Seryozha and his daughter had been, he came to take tea with + us in Weavers' Row.<a href="#linknote-13" name="linknoteref-13" + id="linknoteref-13"><small>13</small></a> + </p> + <p> + My father asked him how he had liked the concert. + </p> + <p> + "Do you remember Himbut, Lyovotchka? Lieutenant Himbut, who was forester + near Yasnaya? I once asked him what was the happiest moment of his life. + Do you know what he answered? + </p> + <p> + "'When I was in the cadet corps,' he said, 'they used to take down my + breeches now and again and lay me across a bench and flog me. They flogged + and they flogged; when they stopped, that was the happiest moment of my + life.' Well, it was only during the entr'actes, when Rubinstein stopped + playing, that I really enjoyed myself." + </p> + <p> + He did not always spare my father. + </p> + <p> + Once when I was out shooting with a setter near Pirogovo, I drove in to + Uncle Seryozha's to stop the night. + </p> + <p> + I do not remember apropos of what, but Uncle Seryozha averred that + Lyovotchka was proud. He said: + </p> + <p> + "He is always preaching humility and non-resistance, but he is proud + himself. + </p> + <p> + "Nashenka's <a href="#linknote-14" name="linknoteref-14" + id="linknoteref-14"><small>14</small></a> sister had a footman called + Forna. When he got drunk, he used to get under the staircase, tuck in his + legs, and lie down. One day they came and told him that the countess was + calling him. 'She can come and find me if she wants me,' he answered. + </p> + <p> + "Lyovotchka is just the same. When Dolgoruky sent his chief secretary + Istomin to ask him to come and have a talk with him about Syntayef, the + sectarian, do you know what he answered? + </p> + <p> + "'Let him come here, if he wants me.' Isn't that just the same as Forna? + </p> + <p> + "No, Lyovotchka is very proud. Nothing would induce him to go, and he was + quite right; but it's no good talking of humility." + </p> + <p> + During the last years of Sergei Nikolayevitch's life my father was + particularly friendly and affectionate with him, and delighted in sharing + his thoughts with him. + </p> + <p> + A. A. Fet in his reminiscences describes the character of all the three + Tolstoy brothers with extraordinary perspicacity: + </p> + <p> + I am convinced that the fundamental type of all the three Tolstoy brothers + was identical, just as the type of all maple-leaves is identical, despite + the variety of their configurations. And if I set myself to develop the + idea, I could show to what a degree all three brothers shared in that + passionate enthusiasm without which it would have been impossible for one + of them to turn into the poet Lyoff Tolstoy. The difference of their + attitude to life was determined by the difference of the ways in which + they turned their backs on their unfulfilled dreams. Nikolai quenched his + ardor in skeptical derision, Lyoff renounced his unrealized dreams with + silent reproach, and Sergei with morbid misanthropy. The greater the + original store of love in such characters, the stronger, if only for a + time, is their resemblance to Timon of Athens. + </p> + <p> + In the winter of 1901-02 my father was ill in the Crimea, and for a long + time lay between life and death. Uncle Seryozha, who felt himself getting + weaker, could not bring himself to leave Pirogovo, and in his own home + followed anxiously the course of my father's illness by the letters which + several members of our family wrote him, and by the bulletins in the + newspapers. + </p> + <p> + When my father began to improve, I went back home, and on the way from the + Crimea went to Pirogovo, in order to tell Uncle Seryozha personally about + the course of the illness and about the present condition of my father's + health. I remember how joyfully and gratefully he welcomed me. + </p> + <p> + "How glad I am that you came! Now tell me all about it. Who is with him? + All of them? And who nurses him most? Do you go on duty in turn? And at + night, too? He can't get out of bed. Ah, that's the worst thing of all! + </p> + <p> + "It will be my turn to die soon; a year sooner or later, what does it + matter? But to lie helpless, a burden to every one, to have others doing + everything for you, lifting you and helping you to sit up, that's what's + so awful. + </p> + <p> + "And how does he endure it? Got used to it, you say? No; I cannot imagine + having Vera to change my linen and wash me. Of course she would say that + it's nothing to her, but for me it would be awful. + </p> + <p> + "And tell me, is he afraid to die? Does he say not? Very likely; he's a + strong man, he may be able to conquer the fear of it. Yes, yes, perhaps + he's not afraid; but still— + </p> + <p> + "You say he struggles with the feeling? Why, of course; what else can one + do? + </p> + <p> + "I wanted to go and be with him; but I thought, how can I? I shall crack + up myself, and then there will be two invalids instead of one. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, you have told me a great deal; every detail is interesting. It is + not death that's so terrible, it's illness, helplessness, and, above all, + the fear that you are a burden to others. That's awful, awful." + </p> + <p> + Uncle Seryozha died in 1904 of cancer in the face. This is what my aunt, + Maria Nikolayevna, <a href="#linknote-15" name="linknoteref-15" + id="linknoteref-15"><small>15</small></a> the nun, told me about his + death. Almost to the last day he was on his legs, and would not let any + one nurse him. He was in full possession of his faculties and consciously + prepared for death. + </p> + <p> + Besides his own family, the aged Maria Mikhailovna and her daughters, his + sister, Maria Nikolayevna, who told me the story, was with him, too, and + from hour to hour they expected the arrival of my father, for whom they + had sent a messenger to Yasnaya. They were all troubled with the difficult + question whether the dying man would want to receive the holy communion + before he died. + </p> + <p> + Knowing Sergei Nikolayevitch's disbelief in the religion of the church, no + one dared to mention the subject to him, and the unhappy Maria Mikhailovna + hovered round his room, wringing her hands and praying. + </p> + <p> + They awaited my father's arrival impatiently, but were secretly afraid of + his influence on his brother, and hoped against hope that Sergei + Nikolayevitch would send for the priest before his arrival. + </p> + <p> + "Imagine our surprise and delight," said Maria Tolstoy, "when Lyovotchka + came out of his room and told Maria Mikhailovna that Seryozha wanted a + priest sent for. I do not know what they had been talking about, but when + Seryozha said that he wished to take the communion, Lyovotchka answered + that he was quite right, and at once came and told us what he wanted." + </p> + <p> + My father stayed about a week at Pirogovo, and left two days before my + uncle died. + </p> + <p> + When he received a telegram to say he was worse, he drove over again, but + arrived too late; he was no longer living. He carried his body out from + the house with his own hands, and himself bore it to the churchyard. + </p> + <p> + When he got back to Yasnaya he spoke with touching affection of his + parting with this "inscrutable and beloved" brother, who was so strange + and remote from him, but at the same time so near and so akin. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FET, STRAKHOF, GAY + </h2> + <p> + "WHAT'S this saber doing here?" asked a young guardsman, Lieutenant + Afanasyi Afanasyevitch Fet, of the footman one day as he entered the hall + of Ivan Sergeyevitch Turgenieff's flat in St. Petersburg in the middle of + the fifties. + </p> + <p> + "It is Count Tolstoy's saber; he is asleep in the drawing-room. And Ivan + Sergeyevitch is in his study having breakfast," replied Zalchar. + </p> + <p> + "During the hour I spent with Turgenieff," says Fet, in his reminiscences, + "we talked in low voices, for fear of waking the count, who was asleep on + the other side of the door." + </p> + <p> + "He's like that all the time," said Turgenieff, smiling; "ever since he + got back from his battery at Sebastopol, <a href="#linknote-16" + name="linknoteref-16" id="linknoteref-16"><small>16</small></a> and came + to stay here, he has been going the pace. Orgies, Gipsies, and gambling + all night long, and then sleeps like a dead man till two o'clock in the + afternoon. I did my best to stop him, but have given it up as a bad job. + </p> + <p> + "It was in this visit to St. Petersburg that I and Tolstoy became + acquainted, but the acquaintance was of a purely formal character, as I + had not yet seen a line of his writings, and had never heard of his name + in literature, except that Turgenieff mentioned his 'Stories of + Childhood.'" + </p> + <p> + Soon after this my father came to know Fet intimately, and they struck up + a firm and lasting friendship, and established a correspondence which + lasted almost till Fet's death. + </p> + <p> + It was only during the last years of Fet's life, when my father was + entirely absorbed in his new ideas, which were so at variance with + Afanasyi Afanasyevitch's whole philosophy of life, that they became + estranged and met more rarely. + </p> + <p> + It was at Fet's, at Stepanovka, that my father and Turgenieff quarreled. + </p> + <p> + Before the railway was made, when people still had to drive, Fet, on his + way into Moscow, always used to turn in at Yasnaya Polyana to see my + father, and these visits became an established custom. Afterward, when the + railway was made and my father was already married, Afanasyi Afanasyevitch + still never passed our house without coming in, and if he did, my father + used to write him a letter of earnest reproaches, and he used to apologize + as if he had been guilty of some fault. In those distant times of which I + am speaking my father was bound to Fet by a common interest in agriculture + as well as literature. + </p> + <p> + Some of my father's letters of the sixties are curious in this respect. + </p> + <p> + For instance, in 1860, he wrote a long dissertation on Turgenieff's novel + "On the Eve," which had just come out, and at the end added a postscript: + "What is the price of a set of the best quality of veterinary instruments? + And what is the price of a set of lancets and bleeding-cups for human + use?" + </p> + <p> + In another letter there is a postscript: + </p> + <p> + "When you are next in Oryol, buy me six-hundred weight of various ropes, + reins, and traces," and on the same page: "'Tender art thou,' and the + whole thing is charming. You have never done anything better; it is all + charming." The quotation is from Fet's poem: + </p> + <p> + The lingering clouds' last throng flies over us. + </p> + <p> + But it was not only community of interests that brought my father and + Afanasyi Afanasyevitch together. The reason of their intimacy lay in the + fact that, as my father expressed it, they "thought alike with their + heart's mind." + </p> + <p> + I also remember Nikolai Nikolayevitch Strakhof's visits. He was a + remarkably quiet and modest man. He appeared at Yasnaya Polyana in the + beginning of the seventies, and from that time on came and stayed with us + almost every summer till he died. + </p> + <p> + He had big, gray eyes, wide open, as if in astonishment; a long beard with + a touch of gray in it; and when he spoke, at the end of every sentence he + gave a shy laugh. + </p> + <p> + When he addressed my father, he always said "Lef Nikolayevitch" instead of + Lyoff Nikolaievich, like other people. + </p> + <p> + He always stayed down-stairs in my father's study, and spent his whole day + there reading or writing, with a thick cigarette, which he rolled himself, + in his mouth. + </p> + <p> + Strakhof and my father came together originally on a purely business + footing. When the first part of my father's "Alphabet and Reading-Book" + was printed, Strakhof had charge of the proof-reading. This led to a + correspondence between him and my father, of a business character at + first, later developing into a philosophical and friendly one. While he + was writing "Anna Karenina," my father set great store by his opinion and + valued his critical instinct very highly. + </p> + <p> + "It is enough for me that that is your opinion," he writes in a letter of + 1872, probably apropos of the "Alphabet." + </p> + <p> + In 1876, apropos of "Anna Karenina" this time, my father wrote: + </p> + <p> + "You ask me whether you have understood my novel aright, and what I think + of your opinion. Of course you understood it aright. Of course I am + overjoyed at your understanding of it; but it does not follow that + everybody will understand it as you do." + </p> + <p> + But it was not only his critical work that drew my father to Strakhof. He + disliked critics on the whole and used to say that the only people who + took to criticism were those who had no creative faculty of their own. + "The stupid ones judge the clever ones," he said of professional critics. + What he valued most in Strakhof was the profound and penetrating thinker. + He was a "real friend" of my father's,—my father himself so + described him,—and I recall his memory with deep affection and + respect. + </p> + <p> + At last I have come to the memory of the man who was nearer in spirit to + my father than any other human being, namely, Nikolai Nikolayevitch Gay. + Grandfather Gay, as we called him, made my father's acquaintance in 1882. + While living on his farm in the Province of Tchernigoff, he chanced to + read my father's pamphlet "On the Census," and finding a solution in it of + the very questions which were troubling him at the time, without delay he + started out and hurried into Moscow. I remember his first arrival, and I + have always retained the impression that from the first words they + exchanged he and my father understood each other, and found themselves + speaking the same language. + </p> + <p> + Just like my father, Gay was at this time passing through a great + spiritual crisis; and traveling almost the same road as my father in his + search after truth, he had arrived at the study of the Gospel and a new + understanding of it. My sister Tatyana wrote: + </p> + <p> + For the personality of Christ he entertained a passionate and tender + affection, as if for a near and familiar friend whom he loved with all the + strength of his soul. Often during heated arguments Nikolai Nikolayevitch + would take the Gospel, which he always carried about with him, from his + pocket, and read out some passage from it appropriate to the subject in + hand. "This book contains everything that a man needs," he used to say on + these occasions. + </p> + <p> + While reading the Gospel, he often looked up at the person he was talking + to and went on reading without looking at the book. His face glowed at + such moments with such inward joy that one could see how near and dear the + words he was reading were to his heart. + </p> + <p> + He knew the whole Gospel almost by heart, but he said that every time he + read it he enjoyed a new and genuine spiritual delight. He said that not + only was everything intelligible to him in the Gospel, but that when he + read it he seemed to be reading in his own soul, and felt himself capable + of rising higher and higher toward God and merging himself in Him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TURGENIEFF + </h2> + <p> + I DO not mean to recount all the misunderstandings which existed between + my father and Turgenieff, which ended in a complete breach between them in + 1861. The actual external facts of that story are common property, and + there is no need to repeat them. <a href="#linknote-17" + name="linknoteref-17" id="linknoteref-17"><small>17</small></a> According + to general opinion, the quarrel between the two greatest writers of the + day arose out of their literary rivalry. + </p> + <p> + It is my intention to show cause against this generally received opinion, + and before I come to Turgenieff's visits to Yasnaya Polyana, I want to + make as clear as I can the real reason of the perpetual discords between + these two good-hearted people, who had a cordial affection for each other—discords + which led in the end to an out-and-out quarrel and the exchange of mutual + defiance. + </p> + <p> + As far as I know, my father never had any serious difference with any + other human being during the whole course of his existence. And + Turgenieff, in a letter to my father in 1865, wrote, "You are the only man + with whom I have ever had misunderstandings." + </p> + <p> + Whenever my father related his quarrel with Ivan Sergeyevitch, he took all + the blame on himself. Turgenieff, immediately after the quarrel, wrote a + letter apologizing to my father, and never sought to justify his own part + in it. + </p> + <p> + Why was it that, as Turgenieff himself put it, his "constellation" and my + father's "moved in the ether with unquestioned enmity"? + </p> + <p> + This is what my sister Tatyana wrote on the subject in her article + "Turgenieff," published in the supplement to the "Novoye Vremya," February + 2, 1908: + </p> + <p> + All question of literary rivalry, it seems to me, is utterly beside the + mark. Turgenieff, from the very outset of my father's literary career, + acknowledged his enormous talents, and never thought of rivalry with him. + From the moment when, as early as 1854, he wrote to Kolbasina, "If Heaven + only grant Tolstoy life, I confidently hope that he will surprise us all," + he never ceased to follow my father's work with interest, and always + expressed his unbounded admiration of it. + </p> + <p> + "When this young wine has done fermenting," he wrote to Druzhenin in 1856, + "the result will be a liquor worthy of the gods." In 1857 he wrote to + Polonsky, "This man will go far, and leave deep traces behind him." + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, somehow these two men never could "hit it off" together. + When one reads Turgenieff's letters to my father, one sees that from the + very beginning of their acquaintance misunderstandings were always + arising, which they perpetually endeavored to smooth down or to forget, + but which arose again after a time, sometimes in another form, + necessitating new explanations and reconciliations. + </p> + <p> + In 1856 Turgenieff wrote to my father: + </p> + <p> + Your letter took some time reaching me, dear Lyoff Nikolaievich. Let me + begin by saying that I am very grateful to you for sending it to me. I + shall never cease to love you and to value your friendship, although, + probably through my fault, each of us will long feel considerable + awkwardness in the presence of the other.... I think that you yourself + understand the reason of this awkwardness of which I speak. You are the + only man with whom I have ever had misunderstandings. + </p> + <p> + This arises from the very fact that I have never been willing to confine + myself to merely friendly relations with you. I have always wanted to go + further and deeper than that; but I set about it clumsily. I irritated and + upset you, and when I saw my mistake, I drew back too hastily, perhaps; + and it was this which caused this "gulf" between us. + </p> + <p> + But this awkwardness is a mere physical impression, nothing more; and if + when we meet again, you see the old "mischievous look in my eyes," believe + me, the reason of it will not be that I am a bad man. I assure you that + there is no need to look for any other explanation. Perhaps I may add, + also, that I am much older than you, and I have traveled a different + road.... Outside of our special, so-called "literary" interests, I am + convinced, we have few points of contact. Your whole being stretches out + hands toward the future; mine is built up in the past. For me to follow + you is impossible. For you to follow me is equally out of the question. + You are too far removed from me, and besides, you stand too firmly on your + own legs to become any one's disciple. I can assure you that I never + attributed any malice to you, never suspected you of any literary envy. I + have often thought, if you will excuse the expression, that you were + wanting in common sense, but never in goodness. You are too penetrating + not to know that if either of us has cause to envy the other, it is + certainly not you that has cause to envy me. + </p> + <p> + The following year he wrote a letter to my father which, it seems to me, + is a key to the understanding of Turgenieff's attitude toward him: + </p> + <p> + You write that you are very glad you did not follow my advice and become a + pure man of letters. I don't deny it; perhaps you are right. Still, batter + my poor brains as I may, I cannot imagine what else you are if you are not + a man of letters. A soldier? A squire? A philosopher? The founder of a new + religious doctrine? A civil servant? A man of business?... Please resolve + my difficulties, and tell me which of these suppositions is correct. I am + joking, but I really do wish beyond all things to see you under way at + last, with all sails set. + </p> + <p> + It seems to me that Turgenieff, as an artist, saw nothing in my father + beyond his great literary talent, and was unwilling to allow him the right + to be anything besides an artist and a writer. Any other line of activity + on my father's part offended Turgenieff, as it were, and he was angry with + my father because he did not follow his advice. He was much older than my + father, <a href="#linknote-18" name="linknoteref-18" id="linknoteref-18"><small>18</small></a> + he did not hesitate to rank his own talent lower than my father's, and + demanded only one thing of him, that he should devote all the energies of + his life to his literary work. And, lo and behold! my father would have + nothing to do with his magnanimity and humility, would not listen to his + advice, but insisted on going the road which his own tastes and nature + pointed out to him. Turgenieff's tastes and character were diametrically + opposed to my father's. While opposition always inspired my father and + lent him strength, it had just the opposite effect on Turgenieff. + </p> + <p> + Being wholly in agreement with my sister's views, I will merely supplement + them with the words uttered by his brother, Nikolai Nikolayevitch, who + said that "Turgenieff cannot reconcile himself to the idea that Lyovotchka + is growing up and freeing himself from his tutelage." + </p> + <p> + As a matter of fact, when Turgenieff was already a famous writer, no one + had ever heard of Tolstoy, and, as Fet expressed it, there was only + "something said about his stories from 'Childhood.'" + </p> + <p> + I can imagine with what secret veneration a young writer, just beginning, + must have regarded Turgenieff at that time, and all the more because Ivan + Sergeyevitch was a great friend of my father's elder and beloved brother + Nikolai. + </p> + <p> + I do not like to assert it positively, but it seems to me that just as + Turgenieff was unwilling to confine himself to "merely friendly + relations," so my father also felt too warmly toward Ivan Sergeyevitch, + and that was the very reason why they could never meet without disagreeing + and quarreling. In confirmation of what I say here is a passage from a + letter written by V. Botkin, a close friend of my father's and of Ivan + Sergeyevitch's, to A. A. Fet, written immediately after their quarrel: + </p> + <p> + I think that Tolstoy really has a passionately affectionate nature and he + would like to love Turgenieff in the warmest way possible; but + unfortunately his impulsive feeling encounters nothing but a kindly, + good-natured indifference, and he can by no means reconcile himself to + that. + </p> + <p> + Turgenieff himself said that when they first came to know each other my + father dogged his heels "like a woman in love," and at one time he used to + avoid him, because he was afraid of his spirit of opposition. + </p> + <p> + My father was perhaps irritated by the slightly patronizing tone which + Turgenieff adopted from the very outset of their acquaintance; and + Turgenieff was irritated by my father's "crankiness," which distracted him + from "his proper metier, literature." + </p> + <p> + In 1870, before the date of the quarrel, Turgenieff wrote to Fet: + </p> + <p> + "Lyoff Tolstoy continues to play the crank. It was evidently written in + his stars. When will he turn his last somersault and stand on his feet at + last?" + </p> + <p> + Turgenieff was just the same about my father's "Confession," which he read + not long before his death. Having promised to read it, "to try to + understand it," and "not to lose my temper," he "started to write a long + letter in answer to the 'Confession,' but never finished it... for fear of + becoming disputatious." + </p> + <p> + In a letter to D. V. Grigorevitch he called the book, which was based, in + his opinion, on false premises, "a denial of all live human life" and "a + new sort of Nihilism." + </p> + <p> + It is evident that even then Turgenieff did not understand what a mastery + my father's new philosophy of life had obtained over him, and he was + inclined to attribute his enthusiasm along with the rest to the same + perpetual "crankinesses" and "somersaults" to which he had formerly + attributed his interest in school-teaching, agriculture, the publication + of a paper, and so forth. + </p> + <p> + IVAN SERGEYEVITCH three times visited Yasnaya Polyana within my memory, + in: August and September, 1878, and the third and last time at the + beginning of May, 1880. I can remember all these visits, although it is + quite possible that some details have escaped me. + </p> + <p> + I remember that when we expected Turgenieff on his first visit, it was a + great occasion, and the most anxious and excited of all the household + about it was my mother. She told us that my father had quarreled with + Turgenieff and had once challenged him to a duel, and that he was now + coming at my father's invitation to effect a reconciliation. + </p> + <p> + Turgenieff spent all the time sitting with my father, who during his visit + put aside even his work, and once in the middle of the day my mother + collected us all at a quite unusual hour in the drawing-room, where Ivan + Sergeyevitch read us his story of "The Dog." + </p> + <p> + I can remember his tall, stalwart figure, his gray, silky, yellowish hair, + his soft tread, rather waddling walk, and his piping voice, quite out of + keeping with his majestic exterior. He had a chuckling kind of laugh, like + a child's, and when he laughed his voice was more piping than ever. + </p> + <p> + In the evening, after dinner, we all gathered in the zala. At that time + Uncle Seryozha, Prince Leonid Dmitryevitch Urusof, Vice-Governor of the + Province of Tula; Uncle Sasha Behrs and his young wife, the handsome + Georgian Patty; and the whole family of the Kuzminskys, were staying at + Yasnaya. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Tanya was asked to sing. We listened with beating hearts, and waited + to hear what Turgenieff, the famous connoisseur, would say about her + singing. Of course he praised it, sincerely, I think. After the singing a + quadrille was got up. All of a sudden, in the middle of the quadrille, + Ivan Sergeyevitch, who was sitting at one side looking on, got up and took + one of the ladies by the hand, and, putting his thumbs into the armholes + of his waistcoat, danced a cancan according to the latest rules of + Parisian art. Everyone roared with laughter, Turgenieff more than anybody. + </p> + <p> + After tea the "grown-ups" started some conversation, and a warm dispute + arose among them. It was Prince Urusof who disputed most warmly, and "went + for" Turgenieff. + </p> + <p> + Of Turgenieff's third visit I remember the woodcock shooting. This was on + the second or third of May, 1880. + </p> + <p> + We all went out together beyond the Voronka, my father, my mother and all + the children. My father gave Turgenieff the best place and posted himself + one hundred and fifty paces away at the other end of the same glade. + </p> + <p> + My mother stood by Turgenieff, and we children lighted a bonfire not far + off. + </p> + <p> + My father fired several shots and brought down two birds; Ivan + Sergeyevitch had no luck, and was envying my father's good fortune all the + time. At last, when it was beginning to get dark, a woodcock flew over + Turgenieff, and he shot it. + </p> + <p> + "Killed it?" called out my father. + </p> + <p> + "Fell like a stone; send your dog to pick him up," answered Ivan + Sergeyevitch. + </p> + <p> + My father sent us with the dog, Turgenieff showed us where to look for the + bird; but search as we might, and the dog, too, there was no woodcock to + be found. At last Turgenieff came to help, and my father came; there was + no woodcock there. + </p> + <p> + "Perhaps you only winged it; it may have got away along the ground," said + my father, puzzled. "It is impossible that the dog shouldn't find it; he + couldn't miss a bird that was killed." + </p> + <p> + "I tell you I saw it with my own eyes, Lyoff Nikolaievich; it fell like a + stone. I didn't wound it; I killed it outright. I can tell the + difference." + </p> + <p> + "Then why can't the dog find it? It's impossible; there's something + wrong." + </p> + <p> + "I don't know anything about that," insisted Turgenieff. "You may take it + from me I'm not lying; it fell like a stone where I tell you." + </p> + <p> + There was no finding the woodcock, and the incident left an unpleasant + flavor, as if one or the other of them was in the wrong. Either Turgenieff + was bragging when he said that he shot it dead, or my father, in + maintaining that the dog could not fail to find a bird that had been + killed. + </p> + <p> + And this must needs happen just when they were both so anxious to avoid + every sort of misunderstanding! That was the very reason why they had + carefully fought shy of all serious conversation, and spent all their time + merely amusing themselves. + </p> + <p> + When my father said good night to us that night, he whispered to us that + we were to get up early and go back to the place to have a good hunt for + the bird. + </p> + <p> + And what was the result? The woodcock, in falling, had caught in the fork + of a branch, right at the top of an aspen-tree, and it was all we could do + to knock it out from there. + </p> + <p> + When we brought it home in triumph, it was something of an "occasion," and + my father and Turgenieff were far more delighted than we were. It turned + out that they were both in the right, and everything ended to their mutual + satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + Ivan Sergeyevitch slept down-stairs in my father's study. When the party + broke up for the night, I used to see him to his room, and while he was + undressing I sat on his bed and talked sport with him. + </p> + <p> + He asked me if I could shoot. I said yes, but that I didn't care to go out + shooting because I had nothing but a rotten old one-barreled gun. + </p> + <p> + "I'll give you a gun," he said. "I've got two in Paris, and I have no + earthly need for both. It's not an expensive gun, but it's a good one. + Next time I come to Russia I'll bring it with me." + </p> + <p> + I was quite taken aback and thanked him heartily. I was tremendously + delighted at the idea that I was to have a real central-fire gun. + </p> + <p> + Unfortunately, Turgenieff never came to Russia again. I tried afterward to + buy the gun he had spoken of from his legatees not in the quality of a + central-fire gun, but as Turgenieff's gun; but I did not succeed. + </p> + <p> + That is all that I can remember about this delightful, naively cordial + man, with the childlike eyes and the childlike laugh, and in the picture + my mind preserves of him the memory of his grandeur melts into the charm + of his good nature and simplicity. + </p> + <p> + In 1883 my father received from Ivan Sergeyevitch his last farewell + letter, written in pencil on his death-bed, and I remember with what + emotion he read it. And when the news of his death came, my father would + talk of nothing else for several days, and inquired everywhere for details + of his illness and last days. + </p> + <p> + Apropos of this letter of Turgenieff's, I should like to say that my + father was sincerely annoyed, when he heard applied to himself the epithet + "great writer of the land of Russia," which was taken from this letter. + </p> + <p> + He always hated cliches, and he regarded this one as quite absurd. + </p> + <p> + "Why not 'writer of the land'? I never heard before that a man could be + the writer of a land. People get attached to some nonsensical expression, + and go on repeating it in season and out of season." + </p> + <p> + I have given extracts above from Turgenieff's letters, which show the + invariable consistency with which he lauded my father's literary talents. + Unfortunately, I cannot say the same of my father's attitude toward + Turgenieff. + </p> + <p> + In this, too, the want of dispassionateness in his nature revealed itself. + Personal relations prevented him from being objective. + </p> + <p> + In 1867, apropos of Turgenieff's "Smoke," which had just appeared, he + wrote to Fet: + </p> + <p> + There is hardly any love of anything in "Smoke" and hardly any poetry. The + only thing it shows love for is light and playful adultery, and for that + reason the poetry of the story is repulsive. ... I am timid in expressing + this opinion, because I cannot form a sober judgment about an author whose + personality I dislike. + </p> + <p> + In 1865, before the final breach with Turgenieff, he wrote, again to Fet: + "I do not like 'Enough'!" A personal subjective treatment is never good + unless it is full of life and passion; but the subjectivity in this case + is full of lifeless suffering. + </p> + <p> + In the autumn of 1883, after Turgenieff's death, when the family had gone + into Moscow for the winter, my father stayed at Yasnaya Polyana alone, + with Agafya Mikhailovna, and set earnestly about reading through all + Turgenieff's works. + </p> + <p> + This is what he wrote to my mother at the time: + </p> + <p> + I am always thinking about Turgenieff. I am intensely fond of him, and + sorry for him, and do nothing but read him. I live entirely with him. I + shall certainly give a lecture on him, or write it to be read; tell + Yuryef. + </p> + <p> + "Enough"—read it; it is perfectly charming. + </p> + <p> + Unfortunately, my father's intended lecture on Turgenieff never came off. + The Government forbade him to pay this last tribute to his dead friend, + with whom he had quarreled all his life only because he could not be + indifferent to him. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + (To be continued) +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + REMINISCENCES OF TOLSTOY (Part III.) + </h2> + <h3> + BY HIS SON, COUNT ILYA TOLSTOY + </h3> + <p> + TRANSLATED BY GEORGE CALDERON + </p> + <p> + AT this point I shall turn back and try to trace the influence which my + father had on my upbringing, and I shall recall as well as I can the + impressions that he left on my mind in my childhood, and later in the + melancholy days of my early manhood, which happened to coincide with the + radical change in his whole philosophy of life. + </p> + <p> + In 1852, tired of life in the Caucasus and remembering his old home at + Yasnaya Polyana, he wrote to his aunt, Tatyana Alexandrovna: + </p> + <p> + After some years, I shall find myself, neither very young nor very old, + back at Yasnaya Polyana again: my affairs will all be in order; I shall + have no anxieties for the future and no troubles in the present. + </p> + <p> + You also will be living at Yasnaya. You will be getting a little old, but + you will be healthy and vigorous. We shall lead the life we led in the old + days; I shall work in the mornings, but we shall meet and see each other + almost all day. + </p> + <p> + We shall dine together in the evening. I shall read you something that + interests you. Then we shall talk: I shall tell you about my life in the + Caucasus; you will give me reminiscences of my father and mother; you will + tell me some of those "terrible stories" to which we used to listen in the + old days with frightened eyes and open mouths. + </p> + <p> + We shall talk about the people that we loved and who are no more. + </p> + <p> + You will cry, and I, too; but our tears will be refreshing, tranquilizing + tears. We shall talk about my brothers, who will visit us from time to + time, and about dear Masha, who will also spend several months every year + at Yasnaya, which she loves, with all her children. + </p> + <p> + We shall have no acquaintances; no one will come in to bore us with + gossip. + </p> + <p> + It is a wonderful dream; but that is not all that I let myself dream of. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I shall be married. My wife will be gentle, kind, and +affectionate; she will love you as I do; we shall have children who will +call you granny; you will live in the big house, in the same room on the +top floor where my grandmother lived before. +</pre> + <p> + The whole house will be run on the same lines as it was in my father's + time, and we shall begin the same life over again, but with a change of + roles. + </p> + <p> + You will take my grandmother's place, but you will be better still than + she was; I shall take my father's place, though I can never hope to be + worthy of the honor. + </p> + <p> + My wife will take my mother's place, and the children ours. + </p> + <p> + Masha will fill the part of both my aunts, except for their sorrow; and + there will even be Gasha there to take the place of Prashovya Ilyinitchna. + </p> + <p> + The only thing lacking will be some one to take the part you played in the + life of our family. We shall never find such a noble and loving heart as + yours. There is no one to succeed you. + </p> + <p> + There will be three new faces that will appear among us from time to time: + my brothers, especially one who will often be with us, Nikolenka, who will + be an old bachelor, bald, retired, always the same kindly, noble fellow. + </p> + <p> + Just ten years after this letter, my father married, and almost all his + dreams were realized, just as he had wished. Only the big house, with his + grandmother's room, was missing, and his brother Nikolenka, with the dirty + hands, for he died two years before, in 1860. In his family life my father + witnessed a repetition of the life of his parents, and in us children he + sought to find a repetition of himself and his brothers. We were brought + up as regular gentlefolk, proud of our social position and holding aloof + from all the outer world. Everything that was not us was below us, and + therefore unworthy of imitation. I knew that my father felt very earnestly + about the chastity of young people; I knew how much strength he laid on + purity. An early marriage seemed to me the best solution of the difficult + question that must harass every thoughtful boy when he attains to man's + estate. + </p> + <p> + Two or three years later, when I was eighteen and we were living in + Moscow, I fell in love with a young lady I knew, my present wife, and went + almost every Saturday to her father's house. + </p> + <p> + My father knew, but said nothing. One day when he was going out for a walk + I asked if I might go with him. As I very seldom went for walks with him + in Moscow, he guessed that I wanted to have a serious talk with him about + something, and after walking some distance in silence, evidently feeling + that I was shy about it and did not like to break the ice, he suddenly + began: + </p> + <p> + "You seem to go pretty often to the F——s'." + </p> + <p> + I said that I was very fond of the eldest daughter. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, do you want to marry her?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes." + </p> + <p> + "Is she a good girl? Well, mind you don't make a mistake, and don't be + false to her," he said with a curious gentleness and thoughtfulness. + </p> + <p> + I left him at once and ran back home, delighted, along the Arbat. I was + glad that I had told him the truth, and his affectionate and cautious way + of taking it strengthened my affection both for him, to whom I was + boundlessly grateful for his cordiality, and for her, whom I loved still + more warmly from that moment, and to whom I resolved still more fervently + never to be untrue. + </p> + <p> + My father's tactfulness toward us amounted almost to timidity. There were + certain questions which he could never bring himself to touch on for fear + of causing us pain. I shall never forget how once in Moscow I found him + sitting writing at the table in my room when I dashed in suddenly to + change my clothes. + </p> + <p> + My bed stood behind a screen, which hid him from me. + </p> + <p> + When he heard my footsteps he said, without looking round: + </p> + <p> + "Is that you, Ilya?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, it's I." + </p> + <p> + "Are you alone? Shut the door. There's no one to hear us, and we can't see + each other, so we shall not feel ashamed. Tell me, did you ever have + anything to do with women?" + </p> + <p> + When I said no, I suddenly heard him break out sobbing, like a little + child. + </p> + <p> + I sobbed and cried, too, and for a long time we stayed weeping tears of + joy, with the screen between us, and we were neither of us ashamed, but + both so joyful that I look on that moment as one of the happiest in my + whole life. + </p> + <p> + No arguments or homilies could ever have effected what the emotion I + experienced at that moment did. Such tears as those shed by a father of + sixty can never be forgotten even in moments of the strongest temptation. + </p> + <p> + My father observed my inward life most attentively between the ages of + sixteen and twenty, noted all my doubts and hesitations, encouraged me in + my good impulses, and often found fault with me for inconsistency. + </p> + <p> + I still have some of his letters written at that time. Here are two: + </p> + <p> + I had just written you, my dear friend Ilya, a letter that was true to my + own feelings, but, I am afraid, unjust, and I am not sending it. I said + unpleasant things in it, but I have no right to do so. I do not know you + as I should like to and as I ought to know you. That is my fault. And I + wish to remedy it. I know much in you that I do not like, but I do not + know everything. As for your proposed journey home, I think that in your + position of student, not only student of a gymnase, but at the age of + study, it is better to gad about as little as possible; moreover, all + useless expenditure of money that you can easily refrain from is immoral, + in my opinion, and in yours, too, if you only consider it. If you come, I + shall be glad for my own sake, so long as you are not inseparable from G——. + </p> + <p> + Do as you think best. But you must work, both with your head, thinking and + reading, and with your heart; that is, find out for yourself what is + really good and what is bad, although it seems to be good. I kiss you. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + L. T. +</pre> + <p> + Dear Friend Ilya: + </p> + <p> + There is always somebody or something that prevents me from answering your + two letters, which are important and dear to me, especially the last. + First it was Baturlin, then bad health, insomnia, then the arrival of D——, + the friend of H—— that I wrote you about. He is sitting at tea + talking to the ladies, neither understanding the other; so I left them, + and want to write what little I can of all that I think about you. + </p> + <p> + Even supposing that S—— A—— demands too much of + you, <a href="#linknote-19" name="linknoteref-19" id="linknoteref-19"><small>19</small></a> + there is no harm in waiting; especially from the point of view of + fortifying your opinions, your faith. That is the one important thing. If + you don't, it is a fearful disaster to put off from one shore and not + reach the other. + </p> + <p> + The one shore is an honest and good life, for your own delight and the + profit of others. But there is a bad life, too—a life so sugared, so + common to all, that if you follow it, you do not notice that it is a bad + life, and suffer only in your conscience, if you have one; but if you + leave it, and do not reach the real shore, you will be made miserable by + solitude and by the reproach of having deserted your fellows, and you will + be ashamed. In short, I want to say that it is out of the question to want + to be rather good; it is out of the question to jump into the water unless + you know how to swim. One must be truthful and wish to be good with all + one's might, too. Do you feel this in you? The drift of what I say is that + we all know what PRINCESS MARYA ALEXEVNA <a href="#linknote-20" + name="linknoteref-20" id="linknoteref-20"><small>20</small></a> verdict + about your marriage would be: that if young people marry without a + sufficient fortune, it means children, poverty, getting tired of each + other in a year or two; in ten years, quarrels, want—hell. And in + all this PRINCESS MARYA ALEXEVNA is perfectly right and plays the true + prophet, unless these young people who are getting married have another + purpose, their one and only one, unknown to PRINCESS MARYA ALEXEVNA, and + that not a brainish purpose, not one recognized by the intellect, but one + that gives life its color and the attainment of which is more moving than + any other. If you have this, good; marry at once, and give the lie to + PRINCESS MARYA ALEXEVNA. If not, it is a hundred to one that your marriage + will lead to nothing but misery. I am speaking to you from the bottom of + my heart. Receive my words into the bottom of yours, and weigh them well. + Besides love for you as a son, I have love for you also as a man standing + at the cross-ways. I kiss you and Lyolya and Noletchka and Seryozha, if he + is back. We are all alive and well. + </p> + <p> + The following letter belongs to the same period: + </p> + <p> + Your letter to Tanya has arrived, my dear friend Ilya, and I see that you + are still advancing toward that purpose which you set up for yourself; and + I want to write to you and to her—for no doubt you tell her + everything—what I think about it. Well, I think about it a great + deal, with joy and with fear mixed. This is what I think. If one marries + in order to enjoy oneself more, no good will ever come of it. To set up as + one's main object, ousting everything else, marriage, union with the being + you love, is a great mistake. And an obvious one, if you think about it. + Object, marriage. Well, you marry; and what then? If you had no other + object in life before your marriage, it will be twice as hard to find one. + </p> + <p> + As a rule, people who are getting married completely forget this. + </p> + <p> + So many joyful events await them in the future, in wedlock and the arrival + of children, that those events seem to constitute life itself. But this is + indeed a dangerous illusion. + </p> + <p> + If parents merely live from day to day, begetting children, and have no + purpose in life, they are only putting off the question of the purpose of + life and that punishment which is allotted to people who live without + knowing why; they are only putting it off and not escaping it, because + they will have to bring up their children and guide their steps, but they + will have nothing to guide them by. And then the parents lose their human + qualities and the happiness which depends on the possession of them, and + turn into mere breeding cattle. + </p> + <p> + That is why I say that people who are proposing to marry because their + life SEEMS to them to be full must more than ever set themselves to think + and make clear to their own minds for the sake of what each of them lives. + </p> + <p> + And in order to make this clear, you must consider the circumstances in + which you live, your past. Reckon up what you consider important and what + unimportant in life. Find out what you believe in; that is, what you look + on as eternal and immutable truth, and what you will take for your guide + in life. And not only find out, but make clear to your own mind, and try + to practise or to learn to practise in your daily life; because until you + practise what you believe you cannot tell whether you believe it or not. + </p> + <p> + I know your faith, and that faith, or those sides of it which can be + expressed in deeds, you must now more than ever make clear to your own + mind, by putting them into practice. + </p> + <p> + Your faith is that your welfare consists in loving people and being loved + by them. For the attainment of this end I know of three lines of action in + which I perpetually exercise myself, in which one can never exercise + oneself enough and which are specially necessary to you now. + </p> + <p> + First, in order to be able to love people and to be loved by them, one + must accustom oneself to expect as little as possible from them, and that + is very hard work; for if I expect much, and am often disappointed, I am + inclined rather to reproach them than to love them. + </p> + <p> + Second, in order to love people not in words, but in deed, one must train + oneself to do what benefits them. That needs still harder work, especially + at your age, when it is one's natural business to be studying. + </p> + <p> + Third, in order to love people and to b. l. b. t., <a href="#linknote-21" + name="linknoteref-21" id="linknoteref-21"><small>21</small></a> one must + train oneself to gentleness, humility, the art of bearing with + disagreeable people and things, the art of behaving to them so as not to + offend any one, of being able to choose the least offense. And this is the + hardest work of all—work that never ceases from the time you wake + till the time you go to sleep, and the most joyful work of all, because + day after day you rejoice in your growing success in it, and receive a + further reward, unperceived at first, but very joyful after, in being + loved by others. + </p> + <p> + So I advise you, Friend Ilya, and both of you, to live and to think as + sincerely as you can, because it is the only way you can discover if you + are really going along the same road, and whether it is wise to join hands + or not; and at the same time, if you are sincere, you must be making your + future ready. + </p> + <p> + Your purpose in life must not be the joy of wedlock, but, by your life to + bring more love and truth into the world. The object of marriage is to + help one another in the attainment of that purpose. + </p> + <p> + The vilest and most selfish life is the life of the people who have joined + together only in order to enjoy life; and the highest vocation in the + world is that of those who live in order to serve God by bringing good + into the world, and who have joined together for that very purpose. Don't + mistake half-measures for the real thing. Why should a man not choose the + highest? Only when you have chosen the highest, you must set your whole + heart on it, and not just a little. Just a little leads to nothing. There, + I am tired of writing, and still have much left that I wanted to say. I + kiss you. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HELP FOR THE FAMINE-STRICKEN + </h2> + <p> + AFTER my father had come to the conclusion that it was not only useless to + help people with money, but immoral, the part he took in distributing food + among the peasants during the famines of 1890, 1891, and 1898 may seem to + have shown inconsistency and contradiction of thought. + </p> + <p> + "If a horseman sees that his horse is tired out, he must not remain seated + on its back and hold up its head, but simply get off," he used to say, + condemning all the charities of the well-fed people who sit on the back of + the working classes, continue to enjoy all the benefits of their + privileged position, and merely give from their superfluity. + </p> + <p> + He did not believe in the good of such charity and considered it a form of + self-hallucination, all the more harmful because people thereby acquire a + sort of moral right to continue that idle, aristocratic life and get to go + on increasing the poverty of the people. + </p> + <p> + In the autumn of 1890 my father thought of writing an article on the + famine, which had then spread over nearly all Russia. + </p> + <p> + Although from the newspapers and from the accounts brought by those who + came from the famine-stricken parts he already knew about the extent of + the peasantry's disaster, nevertheless, when his old friend Ivanovitch + Rayovsky called on him at Yasnaya Polyana and proposed that he should + drive through to the Dankovski District with him in order to see the state + of things in the villages for himself, he readily agreed, and went with + him to his property at Begitchovka. + </p> + <p> + He went there with the intention of staying only for a day or two; but + when he saw what a call there was for immediate measures, he at once set + to work to help Rayovsky, who had already instituted several kitchens in + the villages, in relieving the distress of the peasantry, at first on a + small scale, and then, when big subscriptions began to pour in from every + side, on a continually increasing one. The upshot of it was that he + devoted two whole years of his life to the work. + </p> + <p> + It is wrong to think that my father showed any inconsistency in this + matter. He did not delude himself for a moment into thinking he was + engaged on a virtuous and momentous task, but when he saw the sufferings + of the people, he simply could not bear to go on living comfortably at + Yasnaya or in Moscow any longer, but had to go out and help in order to + relieve his own feelings. Once he wrote: + </p> + <p> + There is much about it that is not what it ought to be; there is S. A.'s + money <a href="#linknote-22" name="linknoteref-22" id="linknoteref-22"><small>22</small></a> + and the subscriptions; there is the relation of those who feed and those + who are fed. THERE IS SIN WITHOUT END, but I cannot stay at home and + write. I feel the necessity of taking part in it, of doing something. + </p> + <p> + Six years later I worked again at the same job with my father in Tchornski + and Mtsenski districts. + </p> + <p> + After the bad crops of the two preceding years it became clear by the + beginning of the winter of 1898 that a new famine was approaching in our + neighborhood, and that charitable assistance to the peasantry would be + needed. I turned to my father for help. By the spring he had managed to + collect some money, and at the beginning of April he came himself to see + me. + </p> + <p> + I must say that my father, who was very economical by nature, was + extraordinarily cautious and, I may say, even parsimonious in charitable + matters. It is of course easy to understand, if one considers the + unlimited confidence which he enjoyed among the subscribers and the great + moral responsibility which he could not but feel toward them. So that + before undertaking anything he had himself to be fully convinced of the + necessity of giving aid. + </p> + <p> + The day after his arrival, we saddled a couple of horses and rode out. We + rode as we had ridden together twenty years before, when we went out + coursing with our greyhounds; that is, across country, over the fields. + </p> + <p> + It was all the same to me which way we rode, as I believed that all the + neighboring villages were equally distressed, and my father, for the sake + of old memories, wanted to revisit Spasskoye Lyutovinovo, which was only + six miles from me, and where he had not been since Turgenieff's death. On + the way there I remember he told me all about Turgenieff's mother, who was + famous through all the neighborhood for her remarkable intelligence, + energy, and craziness. I do not know that he ever saw her himself, or + whether he was telling me only the reports that he had heard. + </p> + <p> + As we rode across the Turgenieff's park, he recalled in passing how of old + he and Ivan Sergeyevitch had disputed which park was best, Spasskoye or + Yasnaya Polyana. I asked him: + </p> + <p> + "And now which do you think?" + </p> + <p> + "Yasnaya Polyana IS the best, though this is very fine, very fine indeed." + </p> + <p> + In the village we visited the head-man's and two or three other cottages, + and came away disappointed. There was no famine. + </p> + <p> + The peasants, who had been endowed at the emancipation with a full share + of good land, and had enriched themselves since by wage-earnings, were + hardly in want at all. It is true that some of the yards were badly + stocked; but there was none of that acute degree of want which amounts to + famine and which strikes the eye at once. + </p> + <p> + I even remember my father reproaching me a little for having sounded the + alarm when there was no sufficient cause for it, and for a little while I + felt rather ashamed and awkward before him. + </p> + <p> + Of course when he talked to the peasants he asked each of them if he + remembered Turgenieff and eagerly picked up anything they had to say about + him. Some of the old men remembered him and spoke of him with great + affection. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MY FATHER'S ILLNESS IN THE CRIMEA + </h2> + <p> + IN the autumn of 1901 my father was attacked by persistent feverishness, + and the doctors advised him to spend the winter in the Crimea. Countess + Panina kindly lent him her Villa Gaspra, near Koreiz, and he spent the + winter there. + </p> + <p> + Soon after his arrival, he caught cold and had two illnesses one after the + other, enteric fever and inflammation of the lungs. At one time his + condition was so bad that the doctors had hardly any hope that he would + ever rise from his bed again. Despite the fact that his temperature went + up very high, he was conscious all the time; he dictated some reflections + every day, and deliberately prepared for death. + </p> + <p> + The whole family was with him, and we all took turns in helping to nurse + him. I look back with pleasure on the nights when it fell to me to be on + duty by him, and I sat in the balcony by the open window, listening to his + breathing and every sound in his room. My chief duty, as the strongest of + the family, was to lift him up while the sheets were being changed. When + they were making the bed, I had to hold him in my arms like a child. + </p> + <p> + I remember how my muscles quivered one day with the exertion. He looked at + me with astonishment and said: + </p> + <p> + "You surely don't find me heavy? What nonsense!" + </p> + <p> + I thought of the day when he had given me a bad time at riding in the + woods as a boy, and kept asking, "You're not tired?" + </p> + <p> + Another time during the same illness he wanted me to carry him down-stairs + in my arms by the winding stone staircase. + </p> + <p> + "Pick me up as they do a baby and carry me." + </p> + <p> + He had not a grain of fear that I might stumble and kill him. It was all I + could do to insist on his being carried down in an arm-chair by three of + us. + </p> + <p> + Was my father afraid of death? + </p> + <p> + It is impossible to answer the question in one word. With his tough + constitution and physical strength, he always instinctively fought not + only against death, but against old age. Till the last year of his life he + never gave in, but always did everything for himself and even rode on + horseback. + </p> + <p> + To suppose, therefore, that he had no instinctive fear of death is out of + the question. He had that fear, and in a very high degree, but he was + constantly fighting to overcome it. + </p> + <p> + Did he succeed? + </p> + <p> + I can answer definitely yes. During his illness he talked a great deal of + death and prepared himself for it firmly and deliberately. When he felt + that he was getting weaker, he wished to say good-by to everybody, and he + called us all separately to his bedside, one after the other, and gave his + last words of advice to each. He was so weak that he spoke in a + half-whisper, and when he had said good-by to one, he had to rest for a + while and collect his strength for the rest. + </p> + <p> + When my turn came, he said as nearly as I can remember: + </p> + <p> + "You are still young and strong and tossed by storms of passion. You have + not therefore yet been able to think over the chief questions of life. But + this stage will pass. I am sure of it. When the time comes, believe me, + you will find the truth in the teachings of the Gospel. I am dying + peacefully simply because I have come to know that teaching and believe in + it. May God grant you this knowledge soon! Good-by." + </p> + <p> + I kissed his hand and left the room quietly. When I got to the front door, + I rushed to a lonely stone tower, and there sobbed my heart out in the + darkness like a child. Looking round at last, I saw that some one else was + sitting on the staircase near me, also crying. + </p> + <p> + So I said farewell to my father years before his death, and the memory of + it is dear to me, for I know that if I had seen him before his death at + Astapova he would have said just the same to me. + </p> + <p> + To return to the question of death, I will say that so far from being + afraid of it, in his last days he often desired it; he was more interested + in it than afraid of it. This "greatest of mysteries" interested him to + such a degree that his interest came near to love. How eagerly he listened + to accounts of the death of his friends, Turgenieff, Gay, Leskof, <a + href="#linknote-23" name="linknoteref-23" id="linknoteref-23"><small>23</small></a> + Zhemtchuzhnikof <a href="#linknote-24" name="linknoteref-24" + id="linknoteref-24"><small>24</small></a>; and others! He inquired after + the smallest matters; no detail, however trifling in appearance, was + without its interest and importance to him. + </p> + <p> + His "Circle of Reading," November 7, the day he died, is devoted entirely + to thoughts on death. + </p> + <p> + "Life is a dream, death is an awakening," he wrote, while in expectation + of that awakening. + </p> + <p> + Apropos of the "Circle of Reading," I cannot refrain from relating a + characteristic incident which I was told by one of my sisters. + </p> + <p> + When my father had made up his mind to compile that collection of the + sayings of the wise, to which he gave the name of "Circle of Reading," he + told one of his friends about it. + </p> + <p> + A few days afterward this friend came to see him again, and at once told + him that he and his wife had been thinking over his scheme for the new + book and had come to the conclusion that he ought to call it "For Every + Day," instead of "Circle of Reading." + </p> + <p> + To this my father replied that he preferred the title "Circle of Reading" + because the word "circle" suggested the idea of continuous reading, which + was what he meant to express by the title. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later the friend came across the room to him and repeated + exactly the same remark again. This time my father made no reply. In the + evening, when the friend was preparing to go home, as he was saying + good-by to my father, he held his hand in his and began once more: + </p> + <p> + "Still, I must tell you, Lyoff Nikolaievich, that I and my wife have been + thinking it over, and we have come to the conclusion," and so on, word for + word the same. + </p> + <p> + "No, no, I want to die—to die as soon as possible," groaned my + father when he had seen the friend off. + </p> + <p> + "Isn't it all the same whether it's 'Circle of Reading' or 'For Every + Day'? No, it's time for me to die: I cannot live like this any longer." + </p> + <p> + And, after all, in the end, one of the editions of the sayings of the wise + was called "For Every Day" instead of "Circle of Reading." + </p> + <p> + "Ah, my dear, ever since this Mr. —— turned up, I really don't + know which of Lyoff Nikolaievich's writings are by Lyoff Nikolaievich and + which are by Mr. ——!" murmured our old friend, the + pure-hearted and far from malicious Marya Alexandrovna Schmidt. + </p> + <p> + This sort of intrusion into my father's work as an author bore, in the + "friend's" language, the modest title of "corrections beforehand," and + there is no doubt that Marya Alexandrovna was right, for no one will ever + know where what my father wrote ends and where his concessions to Mr. + ——'s persistent "corrections beforehand" begin, all the more + as this careful adviser had the forethought to arrange that when my father + answered his letters he was always to return him the letters they were + answers to.<a href="#linknote-25" name="linknoteref-25" id="linknoteref-25"><small>25</small></a> + </p> + <p> + Besides the desire for death that my father displayed, in the last years + of his life he cherished another dream, which he made no secret of his + hope of realizing, and that was the desire to suffer for his convictions. + The first impulse in this direction was given him by the persecution on + the part of the authorities to which, during his lifetime, many of his + friends and fellow-thinkers were subjected. + </p> + <p> + When he heard of any one being put in jail or deported for disseminating + his writings, he was so disturbed about it that one was really sorry for + him. I remember my arrival at Yasnaya some days after Gusef's arrest.<a + href="#linknote-26" name="linknoteref-26" id="linknoteref-26"><small>26</small></a> + I stayed two days with my father, and heard of nothing but Gusef. As if + there were nobody in the world but Gusef! I must confess that, sorry as I + was for Gusef, who was shut up at the time in the local prison at + Krapivna, I harbored a most wicked feeling of resentment at my father's + paying so little attention to me and the rest of those about him and being + so absorbed in the thought of Gusef. + </p> + <p> + I willingly acknowledge that I was wrong in entertaining this + narrow-minded feeling. If I had entered fully into what my father was + feeling, I should have seen this at the time. + </p> + <p> + As far back as 1896, in consequence of the arrest of a doctor, Miss N——, + in Tula, my father wrote a long letter to Muravyof, the Minister of + Justice, in which he spoke of the "unreasonableness, uselessness, and + cruelty of the measures taken by the Government against those who + disseminate these forbidden writings," and begged him to "direct the + measures taken to punish or intimidate the perpetrators of the evil, or to + put an end to it, against the man whom you regard as the real instigator + of it... all the more, as I assure you beforehand, that I shall continue + without ceasing till my death to do what the Government considers evil and + what I consider my sacred duty before God." + </p> + <p> + As every one knows, neither this challenge nor the others that followed it + led to any result, and the arrests and deportations of those associated + with him still went on. + </p> + <p> + My father felt himself morally responsible toward all those who suffered + on his account, and every year new burdens were laid on his conscience. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MASHA'S DEATH + </h2> + <p> + As I reach the description of the last days of my father's life, I must + once more make it clear that what I write is based only on the personal + impressions I received in my periodical visits to Yasnaya Polyana. + </p> + <p> + Unfortunately, I have no rich shorthand material to rely on, such as Gusef + and Bulgakof had for their memoirs, and more especially Dushan Petrovitch + Makowicki, who is preparing, I am told, a big and conscientious work, full + of truth and interest. + </p> + <p> + In November, 1906, my sister Masha died of inflammation of the lungs. It + is a curious thing that she vanished out of life with just as little + commotion as she had passed through it. Evidently this is the lot of all + the pure in heart. + </p> + <p> + No one was particularly astonished by her death. I remember that when I + received the telegram, I felt no surprise. It seemed perfectly natural to + me. Masha had married a kinsman of ours, Prince Obolenski; she lived on + her own estate at Pirogovo, twenty-one miles from us, and spent half the + year with her husband at Yasnaya. She was very delicate and had constant + illnesses. + </p> + <p> + When I arrived at Yasnaya the day after her death, I was aware of an + atmosphere of exaltation and prayerful emotion about the whole family, and + it was then I think for the first time that I realized the full grandeur + and beauty of death. + </p> + <p> + I definitely felt that by her death Masha, so far from having gone away + from us, had come nearer to us, and had been, as it were, welded to us + forever in a way that she never could have been during her lifetime. + </p> + <p> + I observed the same frame of mind in my father. He went about silent and + woebegone, summoning all his strength to battle with his own sorrow; but I + never heard him utter a murmur of a complaint, only words of tender + emotion. When the coffin was carried to the church he changed his clothes + and went with the cortege. When he reached the stone pillars he stopped + us, said farewell to the departed, and walked home along the avenue. I + looked after him and watched him walk away across the wet, thawing snow + with his short, quick old man's steps, turning his toes out at a sharp + angle, as he always did, and never once looking round. + </p> + <p> + My sister Masha had held a position of great importance in my father's + life and in the life of the whole family. Many a time in the last few + years have we had occasion to think of her and to murmur sadly: "If only + Masha had been with us! If only Masha had not died!" + </p> + <p> + In order to explain the relations between Masha and my father I must turn + back a considerable way. There was one distinguishing and, at first sight, + peculiar trait in my father's character, due perhaps to the fact that he + grew up without a mother, and that was that all exhibitions of tenderness + were entirely foreign to him. + </p> + <p> + I say "tenderness" in contradistinction to heartiness. Heartiness he had + and in a very high degree. + </p> + <p> + His description of the death of my Uncle Nikolai is characteristic in this + connection. In a letter to his other brother, Sergei Nikolayevitch, in + which he described the last day of his brother's life, my father tells how + he helped him to undress. + </p> + <p> + "He submitted, and became a different man.... He had a word of praise for + everybody, and said to me, 'Thanks, my friend.' You understand the + significance of the words as between us two." + </p> + <p> + It is evident that in the language of the Tolstoy brothers the phrase "my + friend" was an expression of tenderness beyond which imagination could not + go. The words astonished my father even on the lips of his dying brother. + </p> + <p> + During all his lifetime I never received any mark of tenderness from him + whatever. + </p> + <p> + He was not fond of kissing children, and when he did so in saying good + morning or good night, he did it merely as a duty. + </p> + <p> + It is therefore easy to understand that he did not provoke any display of + tenderness toward himself, and that nearness and dearness with him were + never accompanied by any outward manifestations. + </p> + <p> + It would never have come into my head, for instance, to walk up to my + father and kiss him or to stroke his hand. I was partly prevented also + from that by the fact that I always looked up to him with awe, and his + spiritual power, his greatness, prevented me from seeing in him the mere + man—the man who was so plaintive and weary at times, the feeble old + man who so much needed warmth and rest. + </p> + <p> + The only person who could give him that warmth was Masha. + </p> + <p> + She would go up to him, stroke his hand, caress him, and say something + affectionate, and you could see that he liked it, was happy, and even + responded in kind. It was as if he became a different man with her. Why + was it that Masha was able to do this, while no one else even dared to + try? If any other of us had done it, it would have seemed unnatural, but + Masha could do it with perfect simplicity and sincerity. + </p> + <p> + I do not mean to say that others about my father loved him less than + Masha; not at all; but the display of love for him was never so warm and + at the same time so natural with any one else as with her. + </p> + <p> + So that with Masha's death my father was deprived of this natural source + of warmth, which, with advancing years, had become more and more of a + necessity for him. + </p> + <p> + Another and still greater power that she possessed was her remarkably + delicate and sensitive conscience. This trait in her was still dearer to + my father than her caresses. + </p> + <p> + How good she was at smoothing away all misunderstandings! How she always + stood up for those who were found any fault with, justly or unjustly! It + was all the same to her. Masha could reconcile everybody and everything. + </p> + <p> + During the last years of his life my father's health perceptibly grew + worse. Several times he had the most sudden and inexplicable sort of + fainting fits, from which he used to recover the next day, but completely + lost his memory for a time. + </p> + <p> + Seeing my brother Andrei's children, who were staying at Yasnaya, in the + zala one day, he asked with some surprise, "Whose children are these?" + Meeting my wife, he said, "Don't be offended, my dear; I know that I am + very fond of you, but I have quite forgotten who you are"; and when he + went up to the zala after one of these fainting fits, he looked round with + an astonished air and said, "Where's my brother Nitenka." Nitenka had died + fifty years before. + </p> + <p> + The day following all traces of the attack would disappear. + </p> + <p> + During one of these fainting fits my brother Sergei, in undressing my + father, found a little note-book on him. He put it in his own pocket, and + next day, when he came to see my father, he handed it back to him, telling + him that he had not read it. + </p> + <p> + "There would have been no harm in YOUR seeing it," said my father, as he + took it back. + </p> + <p> + This little diary in which he wrote down his most secret thoughts and + prayers was kept "for himself alone," and he never showed it to any one. I + saw it after my father's death. It is impossible to read it without tears. + </p> + <p> + It is curious that the sudden decay of my father's memory displayed itself + only in the matter of real facts and people. He was entirely unaffected in + his literary work, and everything that he wrote down to the last days of + his life is marked by his characteristic logicalness and force. It may be + that the reason he forgot the details of real life was because he was too + deeply absorbed in his abstract work. + </p> + <p> + My wife was at Yasnaya Polyana in October, and when she came home she told + me that there was something wrong there. "Your mother is nervous and + hysterical; your father is in a silent and gloomy frame of mind." + </p> + <p> + I was very busy with my office work, but made up my mind to devote my + first free day to going and seeing my father and mother. + </p> + <p> + When I got to Yasnaya, my father had already left it. + </p> + <p> + I paid Aunt Masha a visit some little time after my father's funeral. We + sat together in her comfortable little cell, and she repeated to me once + more in detail the oft-repeated story of my father's last visit to her. + </p> + <p> + "He sat in that very arm-chair where you are sitting now, and how he + cried!" she said. + </p> + <p> + "When Sasha arrived with her girl friend, they set to work studying this + map of Russia and planning out a route to the Caucasus. Lyovotchka sat + there thoughtful and melancholy. + </p> + <p> + "'Never mind, Papa; it'll be all right,' said Sasha, trying to encourage + him. + </p> + <p> + "'Ah, you women, you women!' answered her father, bitterly. 'How can it + ever be all right?' + </p> + <p> + "I so much hoped that he would settle down here; it would just have suited + him. And it was his own idea, too; he had even taken a cottage in the + village," Aunt Masha sadly recalled. + </p> + <p> + "When he left me to go back to the hotel where he was staying, it seemed + to me that he was rather calmer. + </p> + <p> + "When he said good-by, he even made some joke about his having come to the + wrong door. + </p> + <p> + "I certainly would never have imagined that he would go away again that + same night." + </p> + <p> + It was a grievous trial for Aunt Masha when the old confessor Iosif, who + was her spiritual director, forbade her to pray for her dead brother + because he had been excommunicated. She was too broad-minded to be able to + reconcile herself to the harsh intolerance of the church, and for a time + she was honestly indignant. Another priest to whom she applied also + refused her request. + </p> + <p> + Marya Nikolayevna could not bring herself to disobey her spiritual + fathers, but at the same time she felt that she was not really obeying + their injunction, for she prayed for him all the same, in thought, if not + in words. + </p> + <p> + There is no knowing how her internal discord would have ended if her + father confessor, evidently understanding the moral torment she was + suffering, had not given her permission to pray for her brother, but only + in her cell and in solitude, so as not to lead others astray. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MY FATHER'S WILL. CONCLUSION + </h2> + <p> + ALTHOUGH my father had long since renounced the copyright in all his works + written after 1883, and although, after having made all his real estate + over to his children, he had, as a matter of fact, no property left, still + he could not but be aware that his life was far from corresponding to his + principles, and this consciousness perpetually preyed upon his mind. One + has only to read some of his posthumous works attentively to see that the + idea of leaving home and radically altering his whole way of life had + presented itself to him long since and was a continual temptation to him. + </p> + <p> + This was the cherished dream that always allured him, but which he did not + think himself justified in putting into practice. + </p> + <p> + The life of the Christian must be a "reasonable and happy life IN ALL + POSSIBLE CIRCUMSTANCES," he used to say as he struggled with the + temptation to go away, and gave up his own soul for others. + </p> + <p> + I remember reading in Gusef's memoirs how my father once, in conversation + with Gusoryof, the peasant, who had made up his mind to leave his home for + religious reasons, said, "My life is a hundred thousand times more + loathsome than yours, but yet I cannot leave it." + </p> + <p> + I shall not enumerate all the letters of abuse and amazement which my + father received from all sides, upbraiding him with luxury, with + inconsistency, and even with torturing his peasants. It is easy to imagine + what an impression they made on him. + </p> + <p> + He said there was good reason to revile him; he called their abuse "a bath + for the soul," but internally he suffered from the "bath," and saw no way + out of his difficulties. He bore his cross, and it was in this + self-renunciation that his power consisted, though many either could not + or would not understand it. He alone, despite all those about him, knew + that this cross was laid on him not of man, but of God; and while he was + strong, he loved his burden and shared it with none. + </p> + <p> + Just as thirty years before he had been haunted by the temptation to + suicide, so now he struggled with a new and more powerful temptation, that + of flight. + </p> + <p> + A few days before he left Yasnaya he called on Marya Alexandrovna Schmidt + at Ovsyanniki and confessed to her that he wanted to go away. + </p> + <p> + The old lady held up her hands in horror and said: + </p> + <p> + "Gracious Heavens, Lyoff Nikolaievich, have you come to such a pitch of + weakness?" + </p> + <p> + When I learned, on October 28, 1910, that my father had left Yasnaya, the + same idea occurred to me, and I even put it into words in a letter I sent + to him at Shamerdino by my sister Sasha. + </p> + <p> + I did not know at the time about certain circumstances which have since + made a great deal clear to me that was obscure before. + </p> + <p> + From the moment of my father's death till now I have been racking my + brains to discover what could have given him the impulse to take that last + step. What power could compel him to yield in the struggle in which he had + held firmly and tenaciously for many years? What was the last drop, the + last grain of sand that turned the scales, and sent him forth to search + for a new life on the very edge of the grave? + </p> + <p> + Could he really have fled from home because the wife that he had lived + with for forty-eight years had developed neurasthenia and at one time + showed certain abnormalities characteristic of that malady? Was that like + the man who so loved his fellows and so well knew the human heart? Or did + he suddenly desire, when he was eighty-three, and weak and helpless, to + realize the idea of a pilgrim's life? + </p> + <p> + If so, why did he take my sister Sasha and Dr. Makowicki with him? He + could not but know that in their company he would be just as well provided + with all the necessaries of life as he would have been at Yasnaya Polyana. + It would have been the most palpable self-deception. + </p> + <p> + Knowing my father as I did, I felt that the question of his flight was not + so simple as it seemed to others, and the problem lay long unsolved before + me until it was suddenly made clear by the will that he left behind him. + </p> + <p> + I remember how, after N. S. Leskof's death, my father read me his + posthumous instructions with regard to a pauper funeral, with no speeches + at the grave, and so on, and how the idea of writing his own will then + came into his head for the first time. + </p> + <p> + His first will was written in his diary, on March 27, 1895. <a + href="#linknote-27" name="linknoteref-27" id="linknoteref-27"><small>27</small></a> + </p> + <p> + The fourth paragraph, to which I wish to call particular attention, + contains a request to his next of kin to transfer the right of publishing + his writings to society at large, or, in other words, to renounce the + copyright of them. + </p> + <p> + "But I only request it, and do not direct it. It is a good thing to do. + And it will be good for you to do it; but if you do not do it, that is + your affair. It means that you are not yet ready to do it. The fact that + my writings have been bought and sold during these last ten years has been + the most painful thing in my whole life to me." + </p> + <p> + Three copies were made of this will, and they were kept by my sister + Masha, my brother Sergei, and Tchertkof. + </p> + <p> + I knew of its existence, but I never saw it till after my father's death, + and I never inquired of anybody about the details. + </p> + <p> + I knew my father's views about copyright, and no will of his could have + added anything to what I knew. I knew, moreover, that this will was not + properly executed according to the forms of law, and personally I was glad + of that, for I saw in it another proof of my father's confidence in his + family. I need hardly add that I never doubted that my father's wishes + would be carried out. + </p> + <p> + My sister Masha, with whom I once had a conversation on the subject, was + of the same opinion. + </p> + <p> + In 1909 my father stayed with Mr. Tchertkof at Krekshin, and there for the + first time he wrote a formal will, attested by the signature of witnesses. + How this will came to be written I do not know, and I do not intend to + discuss it. It afterward appeared that it also was imperfect from a legal + point of view, and in October, 1909, it had all to be done again. + </p> + <p> + As to the writing of the third we are fully informed by Mr. F. Strakhof in + an article which he published in the St. Petersburg "Gazette" on November + 6, 1911. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Strakhof left Moscow at night. He had calculated on Sofya Andreyevna, + <a href="#linknote-28" name="linknoteref-28" id="linknoteref-28"><small>28</small></a> + whose presence at Yasnaya Polyana was highly inexpedient for the business + on which he was bound, being still in Moscow. + </p> + <p> + The business in question, as was made clear in the preliminary + consultation which V. G. Tchertkof held with N. K. Muravyof, the + solicitor, consisted in getting fresh signatures from Lyoff Nikolaievich, + whose great age made it desirable to make sure, without delay, of his + wishes being carried out by means of a more unassailable legal document. + Strakhof brought the draft of the will with him, and laid it before Lyoff + Nikolaievich. After reading the paper through, he at once wrote under it + that he agreed with its purport, and then added, after a pause: + </p> + <p> + "All this business is very disagreeable to me, and it is unnecessary. To + insure the propagation of my ideas by taking all sorts of measures—why, + no word can perish without leaving its trace, if it expresses a truth, and + if the man who utters it believes profoundly in its truth. But all these + outward means for insuring it only come of our disbelief in what we + utter." + </p> + <p> + And with these words Lyoff Nikolaievich left the study. + </p> + <p> + Thereupon Mr. Strakhof began to consider what he must do next, whether he + should go back with empty hands, or whether he should argue it out. + </p> + <p> + He decided to argue it out, and endeavored to explain to my father how + painful it would be for his friends after his death to hear people blaming + him for not having taken any steps, despite his strong opinion on the + subject, to see that his wishes were carried out, and for having thereby + helped to transfer his copyrights to the members of his family. + </p> + <p> + Tolstoy promised to think it over, and left the room again. + </p> + <p> + At dinner Sofya Andreyevna "was evidently far from having any suspicions." + When Tolstoy was not by, however, she asked Mr. Strakhof what he had come + down about. Inasmuch as Mr. Strakhof had other affairs in hand besides the + will, he told her about one thing and another with an easy conscience. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Strakhof described a second visit to Yasnaya, when he came to attest + the same will as a witness. + </p> + <p> + When he arrived, he said: "The countess had not yet come down. I breathed + again." + </p> + <p> + Of his departure, he said: + </p> + <p> + As I said good-by to Sofya Andreyevna, I examined her countenance + attentively. Such complete tranquillity and cordiality toward her + departing guests were written on it that I had not the smallest doubt of + her complete ignorance of what was going on.... I left the house with the + pleasing consciousness of a work well done—a work that was destined + to have a considerable historic consequence. I only felt some little + twinge within, certain qualms of conscience about the conspiratorial + character of the transaction. + </p> + <p> + But even this text of the will did not quite satisfy my father's "friends + and advisers"; it was redrafted for the fourth and last time in July, + 1910. + </p> + <p> + This last draft was written by my father himself in the Limonovski Forest, + two miles from the house, not far from Mr. Tchertkof's estate. + </p> + <p> + Such is the melancholy history of this document, which was destined to + have historic consequences. "All this business is very disagreeable to me, + and it is unnecessary," my father said when he signed the paper that was + thrust before him. That was his real opinion about his will, and it never + altered to the end of his days. + </p> + <p> + Is there any need of proof for that? I think one need know very little of + his convictions to have no doubt about it. + </p> + <p> + Was Lyoff Nikolaievich Tolstoy likely of his own accord to have recourse + to the protection of the law? And, if he did, was he likely to conceal it + from his wife and children? + </p> + <p> + He had been put into a position from which there was absolutely no way + out. To tell his wife was out of the question; it would have grievously + offended his friends. To have destroyed the will would have been worse + still; for his friends had suffered for his principles morally, and some + of them materially, and had been exiled from Russia. He felt himself bound + to them. + </p> + <p> + And on the top of all this were his fainting fits, his increasing loss of + memory, the clear consciousness of the approach of death, and the + continually growing nervousness of his wife, who felt in her heart of + hearts the unnatural estrangement of her husband, and could not understand + it. If she asked him what it was that he was concealing from her, he would + either have to say nothing or to tell her the truth. But that was + impossible. + </p> + <p> + So it came about that the long-cherished dream of leaving Yasnaya Polyana + presented itself as the only means of escape. It was certainly not in + order to enjoy the full realization of his dream that he left his home; he + went away only as a choice of evils. + </p> + <p> + "I am too feeble and too old to begin a new life," he had said to my + brother Sergei only a few days before his departure. + </p> + <p> + Harassed, ill in body and in mind, he started forth without any object in + view, without any thought-out plan, merely in order to hide himself + somewhere, wherever it might be, and get some rest from the moral tortures + which had become insupportable to him. + </p> + <p> + "To fly, to fly!" he said in his deathbed delirium as he lay at Astapova. + </p> + <p> + "Has papa considered that mama may not survive the separation from him?" I + asked my sister Sasha on October 29, when she was on the point of going to + join him at Shamerdino. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, he has considered all that, and still made up his mind to go, + because he thinks that nothing could be worse than the state that things + have come to here," she answered. + </p> + <p> + I confess that my explanation of my father's flight by no means exhausts + the question. Life is complex and every explanation of a man's conduct is + bound to suffer from one-sidedness. Besides, there are circumstances of + which I do not care to speak at the present moment, in order not to cause + unnecessary pain to people still living. It may be that if those who were + about my father during the last years of his life had known what they were + doing, things would have turned out differently. + </p> + <p> + The years will pass. The accumulated incrustations which hide the truth + will pass away. Much will be wiped out and forgotten. Among other things + my father's will will be forgotten—that will which he himself looked + upon as an "unnecessary outward means." And men will see more clearly that + legacy of love and truth in which he believed deeply, and which, according + to his own words, "cannot perish without a trace." + </p> + <p> + In conclusion I cannot refrain from quoting the opinion of one of my + kinsmen, who, after my father's death, read the diaries kept both by my + father and my mother during the autumn before Lyoff Nikolaievich left + Yasnaya Polyana. + </p> + <p> + "What a terrible misunderstanding!" he said. "Each loved the other with + such poignant affection, each was suffering all the time on the other's + behalf, and then this terrible ending!... I see the hand of fate in this." + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_FOOT" id="link2H_FOOT"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FOOTNOTES: + </h2> + <p> + <a name="linknote-1" id="linknote-1"> + <!-- Note --></a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 1 (<a href="#linknoteref-1">return</a>)<br /> [ The name we gave to the + stone annex.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-2" id="linknote-2"> + <!-- Note --></a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 2 (<a href="#linknoteref-2">return</a>)<br /> [ The instinct for lime, + necessary to feed their bones, drives Russian children to nibble pieces of + chalk or the whitewash off the wall. In this case the boy was running to + one of the grown-ups in the house, and whom he called uncle, as Russian + children call everybody uncle or aunt, to get a piece of the chalk that he + had for writing on the blackboard. "Us," he said to some one when the boy + was gone. Which of us would have expressed himself like that? You see, he + did not say to "get" or to "break off," but to "bite off," which was + right, because they did literally "bite" off the chalk from the lump with + their teeth, and not break it off.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-3" id="linknote-3"> + <!-- Note --></a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 3 (<a href="#linknoteref-3">return</a>)<br /> [ About $3000.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-4" id="linknote-4"> + <!-- Note --></a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 4 (<a href="#linknoteref-4">return</a>)<br /> [ The zala is the chief room + of a house, corresponding to the English drawing-room, but on a grand + scale. The gostinaya—literally guest-room, usually translated as + drawing-room—is a place for more intimate receptions. At Yasnaya + Polyana meals were taken in the zala, but this is not the general Russian + custom, houses being provided also with a stolovaya, or dining-room.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-5" id="linknote-5"> + <!-- Note --></a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 5 (<a href="#linknoteref-5">return</a>)<br /> [ Kaftan, a long coat of + various cuts, including military and naval frock-coat, and the long gown + worn by coachmen.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-6" id="linknote-6"> + <!-- Note --></a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 6 (<a href="#linknoteref-6">return</a>)<br /> [ Afanasyi Shenshin, the + poet, who adopted his mother's name, Fet, for a time, owing to official + difficulties about his birth-certificate. An intimate friend of + Tolstoy's.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-7" id="linknote-7"> + <!-- Note --></a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 7 (<a href="#linknoteref-7">return</a>)<br /> [ "Sovremennik," or + "Contemporary Review," edited by the poet Mekrasof, was the rallying-place + for the "men of the forties," the new school of realists. Ostrovsky is the + dramatist; Gontcharof the novelist, author of "Oblomof"; Grigorovitch + wrote tales about peasant life, and was the discoverer of Tchekhof's + talent as a serious writer.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-8" id="linknote-8"> + <!-- Note --></a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 8 (<a href="#linknoteref-8">return</a>)<br /> [ The balks are the banks + dividing the fields of different owners or crops. Hedges are not used for + this purpose in Russia.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-9" id="linknote-9"> + <!-- Note --></a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 9 (<a href="#linknoteref-9">return</a>)<br /> [ Pazanki, tracks of a hare, + name given to the last joint of the hind legs.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-10" id="linknote-10"> + <!-- Note --></a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 10 (<a href="#linknoteref-10">return</a>)<br /> [ A Moscow monthly, founded + by Katkof, who somehow managed to edit both this and the daily + "Moskovskiya Vyedomosti," on which "Uncle Kostya" worked at the same + time.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-11" id="linknote-11"> + <!-- Note --></a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 11 (<a href="#linknoteref-11">return</a>)<br /> [ Dmitry. My father's + brother Dmitry died in 1856; Nikolai died September 20, 1860.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-12" id="linknote-12"> + <!-- Note --></a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 12 (<a href="#linknoteref-12">return</a>)<br /> [ That is to say, his eyes + went always on the straightest road to attain satisfaction for himself.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-13" id="linknote-13"> + <!-- Note --></a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 13 (<a href="#linknoteref-13">return</a>)<br /> [ Khamsvniki, a street in + Moscow.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-14" id="linknote-14"> + <!-- Note --></a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 14 (<a href="#linknoteref-14">return</a>)<br /> [ Maria Mikhailovna, his + wife.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-15" id="linknote-15"> + <!-- Note --></a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 15 (<a href="#linknoteref-15">return</a>)<br /> [ Tolstoy's sister. She + became a nun after her husband's death and the marriage of her three + daughters.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-16" id="linknote-16"> + <!-- Note --></a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 16 (<a href="#linknoteref-16">return</a>)<br /> [ Tolstoy was in the + artillery, and commanded a battery in the Crimea.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-17" id="linknote-17"> + <!-- Note --></a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 17 (<a href="#linknoteref-17">return</a>)<br /> [ Fet, at whose house the + quarrel took place, tells all about it in his memoirs. Tolstoy dogmatized + about lady-like charity, apropos of Turgenieff's daughter. Turgenieff, in + a fit of nerves, threatened to box his ears. Tolstoy challenged him to a + duel, and Turgenieff apologized.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-18" id="linknote-18"> + <!-- Note --></a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 18 (<a href="#linknoteref-18">return</a>)<br /> [ Turgenieff was ten years + older than Tolstoy.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-19" id="linknote-19"> + <!-- Note --></a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 19 (<a href="#linknoteref-19">return</a>)<br /> [ I had written to my + father that my fiancee's mother would not let me marry for two years.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-20" id="linknote-20"> + <!-- Note --></a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 20 (<a href="#linknoteref-20">return</a>)<br /> [ My father took + Griboyehof's PRINCESS MARYA ALEXEVNA as a type. The allusion here is to + the last words of Griboyehof's famous comedy, "The Misfortune of + Cleverness," "What will PRINCESS MARYA ALEXEVNA say?"] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-21" id="linknote-21"> + <!-- Note --></a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 21 (<a href="#linknoteref-21">return</a>)<br /> [ Be loved by them.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-22" id="linknote-22"> + <!-- Note --></a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 22 (<a href="#linknoteref-22">return</a>)<br /> [ His wife's.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-23" id="linknote-23"> + <!-- Note --></a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 23 (<a href="#linknoteref-23">return</a>)<br /> [ A novelist, died 1895.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-24" id="linknote-24"> + <!-- Note --></a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 24 (<a href="#linknoteref-24">return</a>)<br /> [ One of the authors of + "Junker Schmidt."] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-25" id="linknote-25"> + <!-- Note --></a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 25 (<a href="#linknoteref-25">return</a>)<br /> [ The curious may be + disposed to trace to some such "corrections beforehand" the remarkable + discrepancy of style and matter which distinguishes some of Tolstoy's + later works, published after his death by Mr. Tchertkof and his literary + executors.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-26" id="linknote-26"> + <!-- Note --></a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 26 (<a href="#linknoteref-26">return</a>)<br /> [ Tolstoy's private + secretary, arrested and banished in 1908.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-27" id="linknote-27"> + <!-- Note --></a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 27 (<a href="#linknoteref-27">return</a>)<br /> [ Five weeks after Leskof's + death.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-28" id="linknote-28"> + <!-- Note --></a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 28 (<a href="#linknoteref-28">return</a>)<br /> [ The Countess Tolstoy.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Reminiscences of Tolstoy, by Ilya Tolstoy + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK REMINISCENCES OF TOLSTOY *** + +***** This file should be named 813-h.htm or 813-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/1/813/ + +Produced by Judith Boss, and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + </body> +</html> @@ -0,0 +1,3330 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Reminiscences of Tolstoy, by Ilya Tolstoy + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Reminiscences of Tolstoy + By His Son + +Author: Ilya Tolstoy + +Posting Date: August 3, 2008 [EBook #813] +Release Date: February, 1997 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK REMINISCENCES OF TOLSTOY *** + + + + +Produced by Judith Boss + + + + + +REMINISCENCES OF TOLSTOY + +BY HIS SON, + +Count Ilya Tolstoy + + +Translated By George Calderon + + + + +REMINISCENCES OF TOLSTOY (Part I.) + +IN one of his letters to his great-aunt, Alexandra Andreyevna Tolstoy, +my father gives the following description of his children: + +The eldest [Sergei] is fair-haired and good-looking; there is something +weak and patient in his expression, and very gentle. His laugh is not +infectious; but when he cries, I can hardly refrain from crying, too. +Every one says he is like my eldest brother. + +I am afraid to believe it. It is too good to be true. My brother's chief +characteristic was neither egotism nor self-renunciation, but a strict +mean between the two. He never sacrificed himself for any one else; but +not only always avoided injuring others, but also interfering with them. +He kept his happiness and his sufferings entirely to himself. + +Ilya, the third, has never been ill in his life; broad-boned, white and +pink, radiant, bad at lessons. Is always thinking about what he is told +not to think about. Invents his own games. Hot-tempered and violent, +wants to fight at once; but is also tender-hearted and very sensitive. +Sensuous; fond of eating and lying still doing nothing. + +Tanya [Tatyana] is eight years old. Every one says that she is like +Sonya, and I believe them, although I am pleased about that, too; I +believe it only because it is obvious. If she had been Adam's eldest +daughter and he had had no other children afterward, she would have +passed a wretched childhood. The greatest pleasure that she has is to +look after children. + +The fourth is Lyoff. Handsome, dexterous, good memory, graceful. Any +clothes fit him as if they had been made for him. Everything that others +do, he does very skilfully and well. Does not understand much yet. + +The fifth, Masha [Mary] is two years old, the one whose birth nearly +cost Sonya her life. A weak and sickly child. Body white as milk, curly +white hair; big, queer blue eyes, queer by reason of their deep, serious +expression. Very intelligent and ugly. She will be one of the riddles; +she will suffer, she will seek and find nothing, will always be seeking +what is least attainable. + +The sixth, Peter, is a giant, a huge, delightful baby in a mob-cap, +turns out his elbows, strives eagerly after something. My wife falls +into an ecstasy of agitation and emotion when she holds him in her arms; +but I am completely at a loss to understand. I know that he has a great +store of physical energy, but whether there is any purpose for which the +store is wanted I do not know. That is why I do not care for children +under two or three; I don't understand. + + +This letter was written in 1872, when I was six years old. My +recollections date from about that time. I can remember a few things +before. + + + + +FAMILY LIFE IN THE COUNTRY + +FROM my earliest childhood until the family moved into Moscow--that +was in 1881--all my life was spent, almost without a break, at Yasnaya +Polyana. + +This is how we live. The chief personage in the house is my mother. She +settles everything. She interviews Nikolai, the cook, and orders dinner; +she sends us out for walks, makes our shirts, is always nursing some +baby at the breast; all day long she is bustling about the house with +hurried steps. One can be naughty with her, though she is sometimes +angry and punishes us. + +She knows more about everything than anybody else. She knows that one +must wash every day, that one must eat soup at dinner, that one must +talk French, learn not to crawl about on all fours, not to put one's +elbows on the table; and if she says that one is not to go out walking +because it is just going to rain, she is sure to be right, and one must +do as she says. + +Papa is the cleverest man in the world. He always knows everything. +There is no being naughty with HIM. When he is up in his study +"working," one is not allowed to make a noise, and nobody may go into +his room. What he does when he is at "work," none of us know. Later on, +when I had learned to read, I was told that papa was a "writer." + +This was how I learned. I was very pleased with some lines of poetry one +day, and asked my mother who wrote them. She told me they were written +by Pushkin, and Pushkin was a great writer. I was vexed at my father not +being one, too. Then my mother said that my father was also a well-known +writer, and I was very glad indeed. + +At the dinner-table papa sits opposite mama and has his own round silver +spoon. When old Natalia Petrovna, who lives on the floor below with +great-aunt Tatyana Alexandrovna, pours herself out a glass of kvass, +he picks it up and drinks it right off, then says, "Oh, I'm so sorry, +Natalia Petrovna; I made a mistake!" We all laugh delightedly, and it +seems odd that papa is not in the least afraid of Natalia Petrovna. When +there is jelly for pudding, papa says it is good for gluing paper boxes; +we run off to get some paper, and papa makes it into boxes. Mama is +angry, but he is not afraid of her either. We have the gayest times +imaginable with him now and then. He can ride a horse better and run +faster than anybody else, and there is no one in the world so strong as +he is. + +He hardly ever punishes us, but when he looks me in the eyes he knows +everything that I think, and I am frightened. You can tell stories +to mama, but not to papa, because he will see through you at once. So +nobody ever tries. + +Besides papa and mama, there was also Aunt Tatyana Alexandrovna +Yergolsky. In her room she had a big eikon with a silver mount. We were +very much afraid of this eikon, because it was very old and black. + +When I was six, I remember my father teaching the village children. They +had their lessons in "the other house," [1] where Alexey Stepanytch, the +bailiff, lived, and sometimes on the ground floor of the house we lived +in. + +There were a great number of village children who used to come. When +they came, the front hall smelled of sheepskin jackets; they were taught +by papa and Seryozha and Tanya and Uncle Kostya all at once. Lesson-time +was very gay and lively. + +The children did exactly as they pleased, sat where they liked, ran +about from place to place, and answered questions not one by one, but +all together, interrupting one another, and helping one another to +recall what they had read. If one left out a bit, up jumped another +and then another, and the story or sum was reconstructed by the united +efforts of the whole class. + +What pleased my father most about his pupils was the picturesqueness and +originality of their language. He never wanted a literal repetition of +bookish expressions, and particularly encouraged every one to speak "out +of his own head." I remember how once he stopped a boy who was running +into the next room. + +"Where are YOU off to?" he asked. + +"To uncle, to bite off a piece of chalk." [2] + +"Cut along, cut along! It's not for us to teach them, but for them to +teach." + + + + +THE SERVANTS IN THE HOUSE + +WHEN my father married and brought home his young and inexperienced +bride, Sofya Andreyevna, to Yasnaya Polyana, Nikolai Mikhailovitch +Rumyantsef was already established as cook. Before my father's marriage +he had a salary of five rubles a month; but when my mother arrived, she +raised him to six, at which rate he continued the rest of his days; that +is, till somewhere about the end of the eighties. He was succeeded in +the kitchen by his son, Semyon Nikolayevitch, my mother's godson, and +this worthy and beloved man, companion of my childish games, still +lives with us to this day. Under my mother's supervision he prepared +my father's vegetarian diet with affectionate zeal, and without him my +father would very likely never have lived to the ripe old age he did. + +Agafya Mikhailovna was an old woman who lived at first in the kitchen +of "the other house" and afterward on the home farm. Tall and thin, with +big, thoroughbred eyes, and long, straight hair, like a witch, turning +gray, she was rather terrifying, but more than anything else she was +queer. + +Once upon a time long ago she had been housemaid to my +great-grandmother, Countess Pelageya Nikolayevna Tolstoy, my father's +grandmother, nee Princess Gortchakova. She was fond of telling about her +young days. She would say: + +I was very handsome. When there were gentlefolks visiting at the big +house, the countess would call me, 'Gachette [Agafya], femme de chambre, +apportez-moi un mouchoir!' Then I would say, 'Toute suite, Madame la +Comtesse!' And every one would be staring at me, and couldn't take their +eyes off. When I crossed over to the annex, there they were watching +to catch me on the way. Many a time have I tricked them--ran round the +other way and jumped over the ditch. I never liked that sort of thing +any time. A maid I was, a maid I am. + + +After my grandmother's death, Agafya Mikhailovna was sent on to the home +farm for some reason or other, and minded the sheep. She got so fond of +sheep that all her days after she never would touch mutton. + +After the sheep, she had an affection for dogs, and that is the only +period of her life that I remember her in. + +There was nothing in the world she cared about but dogs. She lived with +them in horrible dirt and smells, and gave up her whole mind and soul +to them. We always had setters, harriers, and borzois, and the whole +kennel, often very numerous, was under Agafya Mikhailovna's management, +with some boy or other to help her, usually one as clumsy and stupid as +could be found. + +There are many interesting recollections bound up with the memory of +this intelligent and original woman. Most of them are associated in +my mind with my father's stories about her. He could always catch and +unravel any interesting psychological trait, and these traits, which he +would mention incidentally, stuck firmly in my mind. He used to tell, +for instance, how Agafya Mikhailovna complained to him of sleeplessness. + +"Ever since I can remember her, she has suffered from 'a birch-tree +growing inside me from my belly up; it presses against my chest, and +prevents my breathing.' + +"She complains of her sleeplessness and the birch-tree and says: 'There +I lay all alone and all quiet, only the clock ticking on the wall: "Who +are you? What are you? Who are you? What are you?" And I began to think: +"Who am I? What am I?" and so I spent the whole night thinking about +it.' + +"Why, imagine this is Socrates! 'Know thyself,'" said my father, telling +the story with great enthusiasm. + +In the summer-time my mother's brother, Styopa (Stephen Behrs), who was +studying at the time in the school of jurisprudence, used to come and +stay with us. In the autumn he used to go wolf-hunting with my father +and us, with the borzois, and Agafya Mikhailovna loved him for that. + +Styopa's examination was in the spring. Agafya Mikhailovna knew about it +and anxiously waited for the news of whether he had got through. + +Once she put up a candle before the eikon and prayed that Styopa might +pass. But at that moment she remembered that her borzois had got out and +had not come back to the kennels again. + +"Saints in heaven! they'll get into some place and worry the cattle and +do a mischief!" she cried. "'Lord, let my candle burn for the dogs +to come back quick, and I'll buy another for Stepan Andreyevitch.' No +sooner had I said this to myself than I heard the dogs in the porch +rattling their collars. Thank God! they were back. That's what prayer +can do." + +Another favorite of Agafya Mikhailovna was a young man, Misha +Stakhovitch, who often stayed with us. + +"See what you have been and done to me, little Countess!" she said +reproachfully to my sister Tanya: "you've introduced me to Mikhail +Alexandrovitch, and I've fallen in love with him in my old age, like a +wicked woman!" + +On the fifth of February, her name-day, Agafya Mikhailovna received a +telegram of congratulation from Stakhovitch. + +When my father heard of it, he said jokingly to Agafya Mikhailovna: + +"Aren't you ashamed that a man had to trudge two miles through the frost +at night all for the sake of your telegram?" + +"Trudge, trudge? Angels bore him on their wings. Trudge, indeed! You +get three telegrams from an outlandish Jew woman," she growled, "and +telegrams every day about your Golokhvotika. Never a trudge then; but I +get name-day greetings, and it's trudge!" + +And one could not but acknowledge that she was right. This telegram, +the only one in the whole year that was addressed to the kennels, by +the pleasure it gave Agafya Mikhailovna was far more important of course +than this news or the about a ball given in Moscow in honor of a Jewish +banker's daughter, or about Olga Andreyevna Golokvastovy's arrival at +Yasnaya. + +Agafya Mikhailovna died at the beginning of the nineties. There were no +more hounds or sporting dogs at Yasnaya then, but till the end of her +days she gave shelter to a motley collection of mongrels, and tended and +fed them. + + + + +THE HOME OF THE TOLSTOYS + +I CAN remember the house at Yasnaya Polyana in the condition it was in +the first years after my father's marriage. + +It was one of the two-storied wings of the old mansion-house of the +Princes Volkonsky, which my father had sold for pulling down when he was +still a bachelor. + +From what my father has told me, I know that the house in which he was +born and spent his youth was a three-storied building with thirty-six +rooms. On the spot where it stood, between the two wings, the remains +of the old stone foundation are still visible in the form of trenches +filled with rubble, and the site is covered with big sixty-year-old +trees that my father himself planted. + +When any one asked my father where he was born, he used to point to a +tall larch which grew on the site of the old foundations. + +"Up there where the top of that larch waves," he used to say; "that's +where my mother's room was, where I was born on a leather sofa." + +My father seldom spoke of his mother, but when he did, it was delightful +to hear him, because the mention of her awoke an unusual strain of +gentleness and tenderness in him. There was such a ring of respectful +affection, so much reverence for her memory, in his words, that we all +looked on her as a sort of saint. + +My father remembered his father well, because he was already nine years +old when he died. He loved him, too, and always spoke of him reverently; +but one always felt that his mother's memory, although he had never +known her, was dearer to him, and his love for her far greater than for +his father. + +Even to this day I do not exactly know the story of the sale of the old +house. My father never liked talking about it, and for that reason I +could never make up my mind to ask him the details of the transaction. I +only know that the house was sold for five thousand paper rubles [3] by +one of his relatives, who had charge of his affairs by power of attorney +when he was in the Caucasus. + +It was said to have been done in order to pay off my father's gambling +debts. That was quite true. + +My father himself told me that at one time he was a great card-player, +that he lost large sums of money, and that his financial affairs were +considerably embarrassed. + +The only thing about which I am in doubt is whether it was with my +father's knowledge or by his directions that the house was sold, or +whether the relative in question did not exceed his instructions and +decide on the sale of his own initiative. + +My father cherished his parents' memory to such an extent, and had such +a warm affection for everything relating to his own childhood, that it +is hard to believe that he would have raised his hand against the house +in which he had been born and brought up and in which his mother had +spent her whole life. + +Knowing my father as I do, I think it is highly possible that he wrote +to his relative from the Caucasus, "Sell something," not in the least +expecting that he would sell the house, and that he afterward took the +blame for it on himself. Is that not the reason why he was always so +unwilling to talk about it? + +In 1871, when I was five years old, the zala [4] and study were built on +the house. + +The walls of the zala were hung with old portraits of ancestors. They +were rather alarming, and I was afraid of them at first; but we got +used to them after a time, and I grew fond of one of them, of my +great-grandfather, Ilya Andreyevitch Tolstoy, because I was told that I +was like him. + +Beside him hung the portrait of another great-grandfather, Prince +Nikolai Sergeyevitch Volkonsky, my grandmother's father, with thick, +black eyebrows, a gray wig, and a red kaftan. [5] + +This Volkonsky built all the buildings of Yasnaya Polyana. He was a +model squire, intelligent and proud, and enjoyed the great respect of +all the neighborhood. + +On the ground floor, under the drawing-room, next to the entrance-hall, +my father built his study. He had a semi-circular niche made in the +wall, and stood a marble bust of his favorite dead brother Nikolai in +it. This bust was made abroad from a death-mask, and my father told us +that it was very like, because it was done by a good sculptor, according +to his own directions. + +He had a kind and rather plaintive face. The hair was brushed smooth +like a child's, with the parting on one side. He had no beard or +mustache, and his head was white and very, very clean. My father's +study was divided in two by a partition of big bookshelves, containing +a multitude of all sorts of books. In order to support them, the +shelves were connected by big wooden beams, and between them was a thin +birch-wood door, behind which stood my father's writing-table and his +old-fashioned semicircular arm-chair. + +There are portraits of Dickens and Schopenhauer and Fet [6] as a young +man on the walls, too, and the well-known group of writers of the +Sovremennik [7] circle in 1856, with Turgenieff, Ostrovsky, Gontcharof, +Grigorovitch, Druzhinin, and my father, quite young still, without a +beard, and in uniform. + +My father used to come out of his bedroom of a morning--it was in a +corner on the top floor--in his dressing-gown, with his beard uncombed +and tumbled together, and go down to dress. + +Soon after he would issue from his study fresh and vigorous, in a gray +smock-frock, and would go up into the zala for breakfast. That was our +dejeuner. + +When there was nobody staying in the house, he would not stop long in +the drawing-room, but would take his tumbler of tea and carry it off to +his study with him. + +But if there were friends and guests with us, he would get into +conversation, become interested, and could not tear himself away. + +At last he would go off to his work, and we would disperse, in winter to +the different school-rooms, in summer to the croquet-lawn or somewhere +about the garden. My mother would settle down in the drawing-room to +make some garment for the babies, or to copy out something she had not +finished overnight; and till three or four in the afternoon silence +would reign in the house. + +Then my father would come out of his study and go off for his +afternoon's exercise. Sometimes he would take a dog and a gun, sometimes +ride, and sometimes merely go for a walk to the imperial wood. + +At five the big bell that hung on the broken bough of an old elm-tree in +front of the house would ring and we would all run to wash our hands and +collect for dinner. + +He was very hungry, and ate voraciously of whatever turned up. My mother +would try to stop him, would tell him not to waste all his appetite on +kasha, because there were chops and vegetables to follow. "You'll have +a bad liver again," she would say; but he would pay no attention to +her, and would ask for more and more, until his hunger was completely +satisfied. Then he would tell us all about his walk, where he put up a +covey of black game, what new paths he discovered in the imperial +wood beyond Kudeyarof Well, or, if he rode, how the young horse he was +breaking in began to understand the reins and the pressure of the leg. +All this he would relate in the most vivid and entertaining way, so that +the time passed gaily and animatedly. + +After dinner he would go back to his room to read, and at eight we +had tea, and the best hours of the day began--the evening hours, when +everybody gathered in the zala. The grown-ups talked or read aloud or +played the piano, and we either listened to them or had some jolly game +of our own, and in anxious fear awaited the moment when the English +grandfather-clock on the landing would give a click and a buzz, and +slowly and clearly ring out ten. + +Perhaps mama would not notice? She was in the sitting-room, making a +copy. + +"Come, children, bedtime! Say good night," she would call. + +"In a minute, Mama; just five minutes." + +"Run along; it's high time; or there will be no getting you up in the +morning to do your lessons." + +We would say a lingering good night, on the lookout for any chance for +delay, and at last would go down-stairs through the arches, annoyed at +the thought that we were children still and had to go to bed while the +grown-ups could stay up as long as ever they liked. + + + + +A JOURNEY TO THE STEPPES + +WHEN I was still a child and had not yet read "War and Peace," I was +told that NATASHA ROSTOF was Aunt Tanya. When my father was asked +whether that was true, and whether DMITRY ROSTOF was such and such a +person and LEVIN such and such another, he never gave a definite answer, +and one could not but feel that he disliked such questions and was +rather offended by them. + +In those remote days about which I am talking, my father was very keen +about the management of his estate, and devoted a lot of energy to it. I +can remember his planting the huge apple orchard at Yasnaya and several +hundred acres of birch and pine forest, and at the beginning of the +seventies, for a number of years, he was interested in buying up land +cheap in the province of Samara, and breeding droves of steppe horses +and flocks of sheep. + +I still have pretty clear, though rather fragmentary and inconsequent, +recollections of our three summer excursions to the steppes of Samara. + +My father had already been there before his marriage in 1862, and +afterward by the advice of Dr. Zakharyin, who attended him. He took the +kumiss-cure in 1871 and 1872, and at last, in 1873, the whole family +went there. + +At that time my father had bought several hundred acres of cheap +Bashkir lands in the district of Buzuluk, and we went to stay on our new +property at a khutor, or farm. + +In Samara we lived on the farm in a tumble-down wooden house, and beside +us, in the steppe, were erected two felt kibitkas, or Tatar frame tents, +in which our Bashkir, Muhammed Shah Romanytch, lived with his wives. + +Morning and evening they used to tie the mares up outside the kibitkas, +where they were milked by veiled women, who then hid themselves from the +sight of the men behind a brilliant chintz curtain, and made the kumiss. + +The kumiss was bitter and very nasty, but my father and my uncle Stephen +Behrs were very fond of it, and drank it in large quantities. + +When we boys began to get big, we had at first a German tutor for two or +three years, Fyodor Fyodorovitch Kaufmann. + +I cannot say that we were particularly fond of him. He was rather rough, +and even we children were struck by his German stupidity. His redeeming +feature was that he was a devoted sportsman. Every morning he used to +jerk the blankets off us and shout, "Auf, Kinder! auf!" and during the +daytime plagued us with German calligraphy. + + + + +OUTDOOR SPORTS + +THE chief passion of my childhood was riding. I well remember the time +when my father used to put me in the saddle in front of him and we +would ride out to bathe in the Voronka. I have several interesting +recollections connected with these rides. + +One day as we were going to bathe, papa turned round and said to me: + +"Do you know, Ilyusha, I am very pleased with myself to-day. I have been +bothered with her for three whole days, and could not manage to make +her go into the house; try as I would, it was impossible. It never would +come right. But to-day I remembered that there is a mirror in every +hall, and that every lady wears a bonnet. + +"As soon as I remembered that, she went where I wanted her to, and did +everything she had to. You would think a bonnet is a small affair, but +everything depended on that bonnet." + +As I recall this conversation, I feel sure that my father was talking +about that scene in "Anna Karenina" where ANNA went to see her son. + +Although in the final form of the novel nothing is said in this scene +either about a bonnet or a mirror,--nothing is mentioned but a thick +black veil,--still, I imagine that in its original form, when he was +working on the passage, my father may have brought Anna up to the +mirror, and made her straighten her bonnet or take it off. + +I can remember the interest with which he told me this, and it now +seems strange that he should have talked about such subtle artistic +experiences to a boy of seven who was hardly capable of understanding +him at the time. However, that was often the case with him. + +I once heard from him a very interesting description of what a writer +needs for his work: + +"You cannot imagine how important one's mood is," he said. "Sometimes +you get up in the morning, fresh and vigorous, with your head clear, and +you begin to write. Everything is sensible and consistent. You read it +over next day, and have to throw the whole thing away, because, good +as it is, it misses the main thing. There is no imagination in it, +no subtlety, none of the necessary something, none of that only just +without which all your cleverness is worth nothing. Another day you +get up after a bad night, with your nerves all on edge, and you think, +'To-day I shall write well, at any rate.' And as a matter of fact, what +you write is beautiful, picturesque, with any amount of imagination. You +look it through again; it is no good, because it is written stupidly. +There is plenty of color, but not enough intelligence. + +"One's writing is good only when the intelligence and the imagination +are in equilibrium. As soon as one of them overbalances the other, it's +all up; you may as well throw it away and begin afresh." + +As a matter of fact, there was no end to the rewriting in my father's +works. His industry in this particular was truly marvelous. + +We were always devoted to sport from our earliest childhood. I can +remember as well as I remember myself my father's favorite dog in those +days, an Irish setter called Dora. They would bring round the cart, with +a very quiet horse between the shafts, and we would drive out to the +marsh, to Degatna or to Malakhov. My father and sometimes my mother or a +coachman sat on the seat, while I and Dora lay on the floor. + +When we got to the marsh, my father used to get out, stand his gun on +the ground, and, holding it with his left hand, load it. + +Dora meanwhile fidgeted about, whining impatiently and wagging her thick +tail. + +While my father splashed through the marsh, we drove round the bank +somewhat behind him, and eagerly followed the ranging of the dog, the +getting up of the snipe, and the shooting. My father sometimes shot +fairly well, though he often lost his head, and missed frantically. + +But our favorite sport was coursing with greyhounds. What a pleasure +it was when the footman Sergei Petrovitch came in and woke us up before +dawn, with a candle in his hand! + +We jumped up full of energy and happiness, trembling all over in the +morning cold; threw on our clothes as quickly as we could, and ran out +into the zala, where the samovar was boiling and papa was waiting for +us. + +Sometimes mama came in in her dressing-gown, and made us put on all +sorts of extra woolen stockings, and sweaters and gloves. + +"What are you going to wear, Lyovotchka?" she would say to papa. "It's +very cold to-day, and there is a wind. Only the Kuzminsky overcoat again +today? You must put on something underneath, if only for my sake." + +Papa would make a face, but give in at last, and buckle on his short +gray overcoat under the other and sally forth. It would then be growing +light. Our horses were brought round, we got on, and rode first to "the +other house," or to the kennels to get the dogs. + +Agafya Mikhailovna would be anxiously waiting us on the steps. Despite +the coldness of the morning, she would be bareheaded and lightly clad, +with her black jacket open, showing her withered, old bosom. She carried +the dog-collars in her lean, knotted hands. + +"Have you gone and fed them again?" asks my father, severely, looking at +the dogs' bulging stomachs. + +"Fed them? Not a bit; only just a crust of bread apiece." + +"Then what are they licking their chops for?" + +"There was a bit of yesterday's oatmeal left over." + +"I thought as much! All the hares will get away again. It really is too +bad! Do you do it to spite me?" + +"You can't have the dogs running all day on empty stomachs, Lyoff +Nikolaievich," she grunted, going angrily to put on the dogs' collars. + +At last the dogs were got together, some of them on leashes, others +running free; and we would ride out at a brisk trot past Bitter Wells +and the grove into the open country. + +My father would give the word of command, "Line out!" and point out the +direction in which we were to go, and we spread out over the stubble +fields and meadows, whistling and winding about along the lee side of +the steep balks, [8] beating all the bushes with our hunting-crops, and +gazing keenly at every spot or mark on the earth. + +Something white would appear ahead. We stared hard at it, gathered +up the reins, examined the leash, scarcely believing the good luck of +having come on a hare at last. Then riding up closer and closer, with +our eyes on the white thing, it would turn out to be not a hare at all, +but a horse's skull. How annoying! + +We would look at papa and Seryozha, thinking, "I wonder if they saw that +I took that skull for a hare." But papa would be sitting keen and alert +on his English saddle, with the wooden stirrups, smoking a cigarette, +while Seryozha would perhaps have got his leash entangled and could not +get it straight. + +"Thank heaven!" we would exclaim, "nobody saw me! What a fool I should +have felt!" So we would ride on. + +The horse's even pace would begin to rock us to sleep, feeling rather +bored at nothing getting up; when all of a sudden, just at the moment we +least expected it, right in front of us, twenty paces away, would jump +up a gray hare as if from the bowels of the earth. + +The dogs had seen it before we had, and had started forward already +in full pursuit. We began to bawl, "Tally-ho! tally-ho!" like madmen, +flogging our horses with all our might, and flying after them. + +The dogs would come up with the hare, turn it, then turn it again, the +young and fiery Sultan and Darling running over it, catching up again, +and running over again; and at last the old and experienced Winger, +who had been galloping on one side all the time, would seize her +opportunity, and spring in. The hare would give a helpless cry like a +baby, and the dogs, burying their fangs in it, in a star-shaped group, +would begin to tug in different directions. + +"Let go! Let go!" + +We would come galloping up, finish off the hare, and give the dogs +the tracks, [9] tearing them off toe by toe, and throwing them to our +favorites, who would catch them in the air. Then papa would teach us how +to strap the hare on the back of the saddle. + +After the run we would all be in better spirits, and get to better +places near Yasenki and Retinka. Gray hares would get up oftener. Each +of us would have his spoils in the saddle-straps now, and we would begin +to hope for a fox. + +Not many foxes would turn up. If they did, it was generally Tumashka, +who was old and staid, who distinguished himself. He was sick of hares, +and made no great effort to run after them; but with a fox he would +gallop at full speed, and it was almost always he who killed. + +It would be late, often dark, when we got back home. + + + + +"ANNA KARENINA" + +I REMEMBER my father writing his alphabet and reading-book in 1871 and +1872, but I cannot at all remember his beginning "Anna Karenina." I +probably knew nothing about it at the time. What did it matter to a boy +of seven what his father was writing? It was only later, when one kept +hearing the name again and again, and bundles of proofs kept arriving, +and were sent off almost every day, that I understood that "Anna +Karenina" was the name of the novel on which my father and mother were +both at work. + +My mother's work seemed much harder than my father's, because we +actually saw her at it, and she worked much longer hours than he +did. She used to sit in the sitting-room off the zala, at her little +writing-table, and spend all her free time writing. + +Leaning over the manuscript and trying to decipher my father's scrawl +with her short-sighted eyes, she used to spend whole evenings over it, +and often sat up late at night after everybody else had gone to bed. +Sometimes, when anything was written quite illegibly, she would go to +my father's study and ask him what it meant. But this was very rare, +because my mother did not like to disturb him. + +When it happened, my father used to take the manuscript in his hand, and +ask with some annoyance, "What on earth is the difficulty?" and would +begin to read it out aloud. When he came to the difficult place he would +mumble and hesitate, and sometimes had the greatest difficulty in making +out, or, rather, in guessing, what he had written. He had a very bad +handwriting, and a terrible habit of writing in whole sentences between +the lines, or in the corners of the page, or sometimes right across it. + +My mother often discovered gross grammatical errors, and pointed them +out to my father, and corrected them. + +When "Anna Karenina" began to come out in the "Russky Vyestnik," [10] +long galley-proofs were posted to my father, and he looked them through +and corrected them. + +At first the margins would be marked with the ordinary typographical +signs, letters omitted, marks of punctuation, etc.; then individual +words would be changed, and then whole sentences, till in the end the +proof-sheet would be reduced to a mass of patches quite black in places, +and it was quite impossible to send it back as it stood, because no +one but my mother could make head or tail of the tangle of conventional +signs, transpositions, and erasures. + +My mother would sit up all night copying the whole thing out afresh. + +In the morning there would lie the pages on her table, neatly piled +together, covered all over with her fine, clear handwriting, and +everything ready so that when "Lyovotchka" got up he could send the +proof-sheets off by post. + + +My father carried them off to his study to have "just one last look," +and by the evening it would be just as bad again, the whole thing having +been rewritten and messed up. + +"Sonya my dear, I am very sorry, but I've spoiled all your work again; I +promise I won't do it any more," he would say, showing her the passages +he had inked over with a guilty air. "We'll send them off to-morrow +without fail." But this to-morrow was often put off day by day for weeks +or months together. + +"There's just one bit I want to look through again," my father would +say; but he would get carried away and recast the whole thing afresh. + +There were even occasions when, after posting the proofs, he would +remember some particular words next day, and correct them by telegraph. +Several times, in consequence of these rewritings, the printing of the +novel in the "Russky Vyestnik" was interrupted, and sometimes it did not +come out for months together. + +In the last part of "Anna Karenina" my father, in describing the end of +VRONSKY'S career, showed his disapproval of the volunteer movement and +the Panslavonic committees, and this led to a quarrel with Katkof. + +I can remember how angry my father was when Katkof refused to print +those chapters as they stood, and asked him either to leave out part of +them or to soften them down, and finally returned the manuscript, and +printed a short note in his paper to say that after the death of the +heroine the novel was strictly speaking at an end; but that the author +had added an epilogue of two printed sheets, in which he related such +and such facts, and he would very likely "develop these chapters for the +separate edition of his novel." + +In concluding, I wish to say a few words about my father's own opinion +of "Anna Karenina." + +In 1875 he wrote to N. N. Strakhof: + +"I must confess that I was delighted by the success of the last piece +of 'Anna Karenina.' I had by no means expected it, and to tell you the +truth, I am surprised that people are so pleased with such ordinary and +EMPTY stuff." + +The same year he wrote to Fet: + +"It is two months since I have defiled my hands with ink or my heart +with thoughts. But now I am setting to work again on my TEDIOUS, VULGAR +'ANNA KARENINA,' with only one wish, to clear it out of the way as +soon as possible and give myself leisure for other occupations, but not +schoolmastering, which I am fond of, but wish to give up; it takes up +too much time." + +In 1878, when the novel was nearing its end, he wrote again to Strakhof: + +"I am frightened by the feeling that I am getting into my summer mood +again. I LOATHE what I have written. The proof-sheets for the April +number [of "Anna Karenina" in the "Russky Vyestnik"] now lie on my +table, and I am afraid that I have not the heart to correct them. +EVERYTHING in them is BEASTLY, and the whole thing ought to be +rewritten,--all that has been printed, too,--scrapped and melted down, +thrown away, renounced. I ought to say, 'I am sorry; I will not do +it any more,' and try to write something fresh instead of all this +incoherent, neither-fish-nor-flesh-nor-fowlish stuff." + +That was how my father felt toward his novel while he was writing it. +Afterward I often heard him say much harsher things about it. + +"What difficulty is there in writing about how an officer fell in love +with a married woman?" he used to say. "There's no difficulty in it, and +above all no good in it." + +I am quite convinced that if my father could have done so, he long ago +would have destroyed this novel, which he never liked and always wanted +to disown. + + + (To be continued) + + + + +REMINISCENCES OF TOLSTOY (Part II.) + +BY HIS SON, COUNT ILYA TOLSTOY + +TRANSLATED BY GEORGE CALDERON + +IN the summer, when both families were together at Yasnaya, our own +and the Kuzminsky's, when both the house and the annex were full of the +family and their guests, we used our letter-box. + +It originated long before, when I was still small and had only just +learned to write, and it continued with intervals till the middle of the +eighties. + +It hung on the landing at the top of the stairs beside the grandfather's +clock; and every one dropped his compositions into it, the verses, +articles, or stories that he had written on topical subjects in the +course of the week. + +On Sundays we would all collect at the round table in the zala, the +box would be solemnly opened, and one of the grown-ups, often my father +himself, would read the contents aloud. + +All the papers were unsigned, and it was a point of honor not to peep at +the handwriting; but, despite this, we almost always guessed the author, +either by the style, by his self-consciousness, or else by the strained +indifference of his expression. + +When I was a boy, and for the first time wrote a set of French verses +for the letter-box, I was so shy when they were read that I hid under +the table, and sat there the whole evening until I was pulled out by +force. + +For a long time after, I wrote no more, and was always fonder of hearing +other people's compositions read than my own. + +All the events of our life at Yasnaya Polyana found their echo in one +way or another in the letter-box, and no one was spared, not even the +grown-ups. + +All our secrets, all our love-affairs, all the incidents of our +complicated life were revealed in the letter-box, and both household and +visitors were good-humoredly made fun of. + +Unfortunately, much of the correspondence has been lost, but bits of +it have been preserved by some of us in copies or in memory. I cannot +recall everything interesting that there was in it, but here are a few +of the more interesting things from the period of the eighties. + + + + +THE LETTER-BOX + +THE old fogy continues his questions. Why, when women or old men enter +the room, does every well-bred person not only offer them a seat, but +give them up his own? + +Why do they make Ushakof or some Servian officer who comes to pay a +visit necessarily stay to tea or dinner? + +Why is it considered wrong to let an older person or a woman help you on +with your overcoat? + +And why are all these charming rules considered obligatory toward +others, when every day ordinary people come, and we not only do not ask +them to sit down or to stop to dinner or spend the night or render them +any service, but would look on it as the height of impropriety? + +Where do those people end to whom we are under these obligations? By +what characteristics are the one sort distinguished from the others? And +are not all these rules of politeness bad, if they do not extend to all +sorts of people? And is not what we call politeness an illusion, and a +very ugly illusion? + + LYOFF TOLSTOY. + + +Question: Which is the most "beastly plague," a cattle-plague case for a +farmer, or the ablative case for a school-boy? + + LYOFF TOLSTOY. + + +Answers are requested to the following questions: + +Why do Ustyusha, Masha, Alyona, Peter, etc., have to bake, boil, sweep, +empty slops, wait at table, while the gentry have only to eat, gobble, +quarrel, make slops, and eat again? + + LYOFF TOLSTOY. + +My Aunt Tanya, when she was in a bad temper because the coffee-pot had +been spilt or because she had been beaten at croquet, was in the habit +of sending every one to the devil. My father wrote the following story, +"Susoitchik," about it. + + +The devil, not the chief devil, but one of the rank and file, the one +charged with the management of social affairs, Susoitchik by name, was +greatly perturbed on the 6th of August, 1884. From the early morning +onward, people kept arriving who had been sent him by Tatyana Kuzminsky. + +The first to arrive was Alexander Mikhailovitch Kuzminsky; the second +was Misha Islavin; the third was Vyatcheslaf; the fourth was Seryozha +Tolstoy, and last of all came old Lyoff Tolstoy, senior, accompanied +by Prince Urusof. The first visitor, Alexander Mikhailovitch, caused +Susoitchik no surprise, as he often paid Susoitchik visits in obedience +to the behests of his wife. + +"What, has your wife sent you again?" + +"Yes," replied the presiding judge of the district-court, shyly, not +knowing what explanation he could give of the cause of his visit. + +"You come here very often. What do you want?" + +"Oh, nothing in particular; she just sent her compliments," murmured +Alexander Mikhailovitch, departing from the exact truth with some +effort. + +"Very good, very good; come whenever you like; she is one of my best +workers." + +Before Susoitchik had time to show the judge out, in came all the +children, laughing and jostling, and hiding one behind the other. + +"What brought you here, youngsters? Did my little Tanyitchka send you? +That's right; no harm in coming. Give my compliments to Tanya, and +tell her that I am always at her service. Come whenever you like. Old +Susoitchik may be of use to you." + +No sooner had the young folk made their bow than old Lyoff Tolstoy +appeared with Prince Urusof. + +"Aha! so it's the old boy! Many thanks to Tanyitchka. It's a long time +since I have seen you, old chap. Well and hearty? And what can I do for +you?" + +Lyoff Tolstoy shuffled about, rather abashed. + +Prince Urusof, mindful of the etiquette of diplomatic receptions, +stepped forward and explained Tolstoy's appearance by his wish to make +acquaintance with Tatyana Andreyevna's oldest and most faithful friend. + +"Les amis des nos amis sont nos amis." + +"Ha! ha! ha! quite so!" said Susoitchik. "I must reward her for to-day's +work. Be so kind, Prince, as to hand her the marks of my good-will." + +And he handed over the insignia of an order in a morocco case. The +insignia consisted of a necklace of imp's tails to be worn about the +throat, and two toads, one to be worn on the bosom and the other on the +bustle. + +LYOFF TOLSTOY, SENIOR. + + + + +SERGEI NIKOLAYEVITCH TOLSTOY + +I CAN remember my Uncle Seryozha (Sergei) from my earliest childhood. He +lived at Pirogovo, twenty miles from Yasnaya, and visited us often. + +As a young man he was very handsome. He had the same features as my +father, but he was slenderer and more aristocratic-looking. He had the +same oval face, the same nose, the same intelligent gray eyes, and the +same thick, overhanging eyebrows. The only difference between his face +and my father's was defined by the fact that in those distant days, +when my father cared for his personal appearance, he was always worrying +about his ugliness, while Uncle Seryozha was considered, and really was, +a very handsome man. + +This is what my father says about Uncle Seryozha in his fragmentary +reminiscences: + +"I and Nitenka [11] were chums, Nikolenka I revered, but Seryozha I +admired enthusiastically and imitated; I loved him and wished to be he. + +"I admired his handsome exterior, his singing,--he was always a +singer,--his drawing, his gaiety, and above all, however strange a thing +it may seem to say, the directness of his egoism. [12] + +"I always remembered myself, was aware of myself, always divined rightly +or wrongly what others thought about me and felt toward me; and this +spoiled the joy of life for me. This was probably the reason why I +particularly delighted in the opposite of this in other people; namely, +directness of egoism. That is what I especially loved in Seryozha, +though the word 'loved' is inexact. + +"I loved Nikolenka, but I admired Seryozha as something alien and +incomprehensible to me. It was a human life very beautiful, but +completely incomprehensible to me, mysterious, and therefore especially +attractive. + +"He died only a few days ago, and while he was ill and while he was +dying he was just as inscrutable and just as dear to me as he had been +in the distant days of our childhood. + +"In these latter days, in our old age, he was fonder of me, valued my +attachment more, was prouder of me, wanted to agree with me, but could +not, and remained just the same as he had always been; namely, something +quite apart, only himself, handsome, aristocratic, proud, and, above +all, truthful and sincere to a degree that I never met in any other man. + +"He was what he was; he concealed nothing, and did not wish to appear +anything different." + +Uncle Seryozha never treated children affectionately; on the contrary, +he seemed to put up with us rather than to like us. But we always +treated him with particular reverence. The result, as I can see now, +partly of his aristocratic appearance, but chiefly because of the fact +that he called my father "Lyovotchka" and treated him just as my father +treated us. + +He was not only not in the least afraid of him, but was always teasing +him, and argued with him like an elder person with a younger. We were +quite alive to this. + +Of course every one knew that there were no faster dogs in the world +than our black-and-white Darling and her daughter Wizard. Not a hare +could get away from them. But Uncle Seryozha said that the gray hares +about us were sluggish creatures, not at all the same thing as steppe +hares, and neither Darling nor Wizard would get near a steppe hare. + +We listened with open mouths, and did not know which to believe, papa or +Uncle Seryozha. + +Uncle Seryozha went out coursing with us one day. A number of gray +hares were run down, not one, getting away; Uncle Seryozha expressed +no surprise, but still maintained that the only reason was because they +were a poor lot of hares. We could not tell whether he was right or +wrong. + +Perhaps, after all, he was right, for he was more of a sportsman than +papa and had run down ever so many wolves, while we had never known papa +run any wolves down. + +Afterward papa kept dogs only because there was Agafya Mikhailovna to be +thought of, and Uncle Seryozha gave up sport because it was impossible +to keep dogs. + +"Since the emancipation of the peasants," he said, "sport is out of the +question; there are no huntsmen to be had, and the peasants turn out +with sticks and drive the sportsmen off the fields. What is there left +to do nowadays? Country life has become impossible." + +With all his good breeding and sincerity, Uncle Seryozha never concealed +any characteristic but one; with the utmost shyness he concealed the +tenderness of his affections, and if it ever forced itself into the +light, it was only in exceptional circumstances and that against his +will. + +He displayed with peculiar clearness a family characteristic which was +partly shared by my father, namely, an extraordinary restraint in the +expression of affection, which was often concealed under the mask of +indifference and sometimes even of unexpected harshness. In the matter +of wit and sarcasm, on the other hand, he was strikingly original. + +At one period he spent several winters in succession with his family in +Moscow. One time, after a historic concert given by Anton Rubinstein, at +which Uncle Seryozha and his daughter had been, he came to take tea with +us in Weavers' Row.[13] + +My father asked him how he had liked the concert. + +"Do you remember Himbut, Lyovotchka? Lieutenant Himbut, who was forester +near Yasnaya? I once asked him what was the happiest moment of his life. +Do you know what he answered? + +"'When I was in the cadet corps,' he said, 'they used to take down +my breeches now and again and lay me across a bench and flog me. They +flogged and they flogged; when they stopped, that was the happiest +moment of my life.' Well, it was only during the entr'actes, when +Rubinstein stopped playing, that I really enjoyed myself." + +He did not always spare my father. + +Once when I was out shooting with a setter near Pirogovo, I drove in to +Uncle Seryozha's to stop the night. + +I do not remember apropos of what, but Uncle Seryozha averred that +Lyovotchka was proud. He said: + +"He is always preaching humility and non-resistance, but he is proud +himself. + +"Nashenka's [14] sister had a footman called Forna. When he got drunk, +he used to get under the staircase, tuck in his legs, and lie down. One +day they came and told him that the countess was calling him. 'She can +come and find me if she wants me,' he answered. + +"Lyovotchka is just the same. When Dolgoruky sent his chief secretary +Istomin to ask him to come and have a talk with him about Syntayef, the +sectarian, do you know what he answered? + +"'Let him come here, if he wants me.' Isn't that just the same as Forna? + +"No, Lyovotchka is very proud. Nothing would induce him to go, and he +was quite right; but it's no good talking of humility." + +During the last years of Sergei Nikolayevitch's life my father was +particularly friendly and affectionate with him, and delighted in +sharing his thoughts with him. + +A. A. Fet in his reminiscences describes the character of all the three +Tolstoy brothers with extraordinary perspicacity: + +I am convinced that the fundamental type of all the three Tolstoy +brothers was identical, just as the type of all maple-leaves is +identical, despite the variety of their configurations. And if I set +myself to develop the idea, I could show to what a degree all three +brothers shared in that passionate enthusiasm without which it would +have been impossible for one of them to turn into the poet Lyoff +Tolstoy. The difference of their attitude to life was determined by +the difference of the ways in which they turned their backs on their +unfulfilled dreams. Nikolai quenched his ardor in skeptical derision, +Lyoff renounced his unrealized dreams with silent reproach, and Sergei +with morbid misanthropy. The greater the original store of love in such +characters, the stronger, if only for a time, is their resemblance to +Timon of Athens. + +In the winter of 1901-02 my father was ill in the Crimea, and for a +long time lay between life and death. Uncle Seryozha, who felt himself +getting weaker, could not bring himself to leave Pirogovo, and in his +own home followed anxiously the course of my father's illness by the +letters which several members of our family wrote him, and by the +bulletins in the newspapers. + +When my father began to improve, I went back home, and on the way from +the Crimea went to Pirogovo, in order to tell Uncle Seryozha personally +about the course of the illness and about the present condition of my +father's health. I remember how joyfully and gratefully he welcomed me. + +"How glad I am that you came! Now tell me all about it. Who is with him? +All of them? And who nurses him most? Do you go on duty in turn? And at +night, too? He can't get out of bed. Ah, that's the worst thing of all! + +"It will be my turn to die soon; a year sooner or later, what does it +matter? But to lie helpless, a burden to every one, to have others doing +everything for you, lifting you and helping you to sit up, that's what's +so awful. + +"And how does he endure it? Got used to it, you say? No; I cannot +imagine having Vera to change my linen and wash me. Of course she would +say that it's nothing to her, but for me it would be awful. + +"And tell me, is he afraid to die? Does he say not? Very likely; he's a +strong man, he may be able to conquer the fear of it. Yes, yes, perhaps +he's not afraid; but still-- + +"You say he struggles with the feeling? Why, of course; what else can +one do? + +"I wanted to go and be with him; but I thought, how can I? I shall crack +up myself, and then there will be two invalids instead of one. + +"Yes, you have told me a great deal; every detail is interesting. It +is not death that's so terrible, it's illness, helplessness, and, above +all, the fear that you are a burden to others. That's awful, awful." + +Uncle Seryozha died in 1904 of cancer in the face. This is what my aunt, +Maria Nikolayevna, [15] the nun, told me about his death. Almost to the +last day he was on his legs, and would not let any one nurse him. He was +in full possession of his faculties and consciously prepared for death. + +Besides his own family, the aged Maria Mikhailovna and her daughters, +his sister, Maria Nikolayevna, who told me the story, was with him, too, +and from hour to hour they expected the arrival of my father, for whom +they had sent a messenger to Yasnaya. They were all troubled with the +difficult question whether the dying man would want to receive the holy +communion before he died. + +Knowing Sergei Nikolayevitch's disbelief in the religion of the church, +no one dared to mention the subject to him, and the unhappy Maria +Mikhailovna hovered round his room, wringing her hands and praying. + +They awaited my father's arrival impatiently, but were secretly afraid +of his influence on his brother, and hoped against hope that Sergei +Nikolayevitch would send for the priest before his arrival. + +"Imagine our surprise and delight," said Maria Tolstoy, "when Lyovotchka +came out of his room and told Maria Mikhailovna that Seryozha wanted +a priest sent for. I do not know what they had been talking about, but +when Seryozha said that he wished to take the communion, Lyovotchka +answered that he was quite right, and at once came and told us what he +wanted." + +My father stayed about a week at Pirogovo, and left two days before my +uncle died. + +When he received a telegram to say he was worse, he drove over again, +but arrived too late; he was no longer living. He carried his body +out from the house with his own hands, and himself bore it to the +churchyard. + +When he got back to Yasnaya he spoke with touching affection of his +parting with this "inscrutable and beloved" brother, who was so strange +and remote from him, but at the same time so near and so akin. + + + + +FET, STRAKHOF, GAY + +"WHAT'S this saber doing here?" asked a young guardsman, Lieutenant +Afanasyi Afanasyevitch Fet, of the footman one day as he entered the +hall of Ivan Sergeyevitch Turgenieff's flat in St. Petersburg in the +middle of the fifties. + +"It is Count Tolstoy's saber; he is asleep in the drawing-room. And Ivan +Sergeyevitch is in his study having breakfast," replied Zalchar. + +"During the hour I spent with Turgenieff," says Fet, in his +reminiscences, "we talked in low voices, for fear of waking the count, +who was asleep on the other side of the door." + +"He's like that all the time," said Turgenieff, smiling; "ever since he +got back from his battery at Sebastopol, [16] and came to stay here, he +has been going the pace. Orgies, Gipsies, and gambling all night long, +and then sleeps like a dead man till two o'clock in the afternoon. I did +my best to stop him, but have given it up as a bad job. + +"It was in this visit to St. Petersburg that I and Tolstoy became +acquainted, but the acquaintance was of a purely formal character, as I +had not yet seen a line of his writings, and had never heard of his +name in literature, except that Turgenieff mentioned his 'Stories of +Childhood.'" + +Soon after this my father came to know Fet intimately, and they struck +up a firm and lasting friendship, and established a correspondence which +lasted almost till Fet's death. + +It was only during the last years of Fet's life, when my father was +entirely absorbed in his new ideas, which were so at variance with +Afanasyi Afanasyevitch's whole philosophy of life, that they became +estranged and met more rarely. + +It was at Fet's, at Stepanovka, that my father and Turgenieff quarreled. + +Before the railway was made, when people still had to drive, Fet, on +his way into Moscow, always used to turn in at Yasnaya Polyana to see my +father, and these visits became an established custom. Afterward, +when the railway was made and my father was already married, Afanasyi +Afanasyevitch still never passed our house without coming in, and if he +did, my father used to write him a letter of earnest reproaches, and +he used to apologize as if he had been guilty of some fault. In those +distant times of which I am speaking my father was bound to Fet by a +common interest in agriculture as well as literature. + +Some of my father's letters of the sixties are curious in this respect. + +For instance, in 1860, he wrote a long dissertation on Turgenieff's +novel "On the Eve," which had just come out, and at the end added +a postscript: "What is the price of a set of the best quality of +veterinary instruments? And what is the price of a set of lancets and +bleeding-cups for human use?" + +In another letter there is a postscript: + +"When you are next in Oryol, buy me six-hundred weight of various ropes, +reins, and traces," and on the same page: "'Tender art thou,' and the +whole thing is charming. You have never done anything better; it is all +charming." The quotation is from Fet's poem: + +The lingering clouds' last throng flies over us. + + +But it was not only community of interests that brought my father and +Afanasyi Afanasyevitch together. The reason of their intimacy lay in +the fact that, as my father expressed it, they "thought alike with their +heart's mind." + +I also remember Nikolai Nikolayevitch Strakhof's visits. He was a +remarkably quiet and modest man. He appeared at Yasnaya Polyana in the +beginning of the seventies, and from that time on came and stayed with +us almost every summer till he died. + +He had big, gray eyes, wide open, as if in astonishment; a long beard +with a touch of gray in it; and when he spoke, at the end of every +sentence he gave a shy laugh. + +When he addressed my father, he always said "Lef Nikolayevitch" instead +of Lyoff Nikolaievich, like other people. + +He always stayed down-stairs in my father's study, and spent his whole +day there reading or writing, with a thick cigarette, which he rolled +himself, in his mouth. + +Strakhof and my father came together originally on a purely business +footing. When the first part of my father's "Alphabet and Reading-Book" +was printed, Strakhof had charge of the proof-reading. This led to a +correspondence between him and my father, of a business character at +first, later developing into a philosophical and friendly one. While he +was writing "Anna Karenina," my father set great store by his opinion +and valued his critical instinct very highly. + +"It is enough for me that that is your opinion," he writes in a letter +of 1872, probably apropos of the "Alphabet." + +In 1876, apropos of "Anna Karenina" this time, my father wrote: + +"You ask me whether you have understood my novel aright, and what I +think of your opinion. Of course you understood it aright. Of course I +am overjoyed at your understanding of it; but it does not follow that +everybody will understand it as you do." + +But it was not only his critical work that drew my father to Strakhof. +He disliked critics on the whole and used to say that the only people +who took to criticism were those who had no creative faculty of their +own. "The stupid ones judge the clever ones," he said of professional +critics. What he valued most in Strakhof was the profound and +penetrating thinker. He was a "real friend" of my father's,--my father +himself so described him,--and I recall his memory with deep affection +and respect. + +At last I have come to the memory of the man who was nearer in spirit to +my father than any other human being, namely, Nikolai Nikolayevitch +Gay. Grandfather Gay, as we called him, made my father's acquaintance +in 1882. While living on his farm in the Province of Tchernigoff, he +chanced to read my father's pamphlet "On the Census," and finding a +solution in it of the very questions which were troubling him at the +time, without delay he started out and hurried into Moscow. I remember +his first arrival, and I have always retained the impression that from +the first words they exchanged he and my father understood each other, +and found themselves speaking the same language. + +Just like my father, Gay was at this time passing through a great +spiritual crisis; and traveling almost the same road as my father in his +search after truth, he had arrived at the study of the Gospel and a new +understanding of it. My sister Tatyana wrote: + +For the personality of Christ he entertained a passionate and tender +affection, as if for a near and familiar friend whom he loved with +all the strength of his soul. Often during heated arguments Nikolai +Nikolayevitch would take the Gospel, which he always carried about with +him, from his pocket, and read out some passage from it appropriate to +the subject in hand. "This book contains everything that a man needs," +he used to say on these occasions. + +While reading the Gospel, he often looked up at the person he was +talking to and went on reading without looking at the book. His face +glowed at such moments with such inward joy that one could see how near +and dear the words he was reading were to his heart. + +He knew the whole Gospel almost by heart, but he said that every time he +read it he enjoyed a new and genuine spiritual delight. He said that not +only was everything intelligible to him in the Gospel, but that when +he read it he seemed to be reading in his own soul, and felt himself +capable of rising higher and higher toward God and merging himself in +Him. + + + + +TURGENIEFF + +I DO not mean to recount all the misunderstandings which existed between +my father and Turgenieff, which ended in a complete breach between them +in 1861. The actual external facts of that story are common property, +and there is no need to repeat them. [17] According to general opinion, +the quarrel between the two greatest writers of the day arose out of +their literary rivalry. + +It is my intention to show cause against this generally received +opinion, and before I come to Turgenieff's visits to Yasnaya Polyana, I +want to make as clear as I can the real reason of the perpetual discords +between these two good-hearted people, who had a cordial affection for +each other--discords which led in the end to an out-and-out quarrel and +the exchange of mutual defiance. + +As far as I know, my father never had any serious difference with +any other human being during the whole course of his existence. And +Turgenieff, in a letter to my father in 1865, wrote, "You are the only +man with whom I have ever had misunderstandings." + +Whenever my father related his quarrel with Ivan Sergeyevitch, he took +all the blame on himself. Turgenieff, immediately after the quarrel, +wrote a letter apologizing to my father, and never sought to justify his +own part in it. + +Why was it that, as Turgenieff himself put it, his "constellation" and +my father's "moved in the ether with unquestioned enmity"? + +This is what my sister Tatyana wrote on the subject in her article +"Turgenieff," published in the supplement to the "Novoye Vremya," +February 2, 1908: + + +All question of literary rivalry, it seems to me, is utterly beside the +mark. Turgenieff, from the very outset of my father's literary career, +acknowledged his enormous talents, and never thought of rivalry with +him. From the moment when, as early as 1854, he wrote to Kolbasina, "If +Heaven only grant Tolstoy life, I confidently hope that he will surprise +us all," he never ceased to follow my father's work with interest, and +always expressed his unbounded admiration of it. + + +"When this young wine has done fermenting," he wrote to Druzhenin in +1856, "the result will be a liquor worthy of the gods." In 1857 he wrote +to Polonsky, "This man will go far, and leave deep traces behind him." + +Nevertheless, somehow these two men never could "hit it off" together. +When one reads Turgenieff's letters to my father, one sees that from +the very beginning of their acquaintance misunderstandings were always +arising, which they perpetually endeavored to smooth down or to +forget, but which arose again after a time, sometimes in another form, +necessitating new explanations and reconciliations. + +In 1856 Turgenieff wrote to my father: + + +Your letter took some time reaching me, dear Lyoff Nikolaievich. Let me +begin by saying that I am very grateful to you for sending it to me. I +shall never cease to love you and to value your friendship, although, +probably through my fault, each of us will long feel considerable +awkwardness in the presence of the other.... I think that you yourself +understand the reason of this awkwardness of which I speak. You are the +only man with whom I have ever had misunderstandings. + +This arises from the very fact that I have never been willing to confine +myself to merely friendly relations with you. I have always wanted to go +further and deeper than that; but I set about it clumsily. I irritated +and upset you, and when I saw my mistake, I drew back too hastily, +perhaps; and it was this which caused this "gulf" between us. + +But this awkwardness is a mere physical impression, nothing more; and +if when we meet again, you see the old "mischievous look in my eyes," +believe me, the reason of it will not be that I am a bad man. I assure +you that there is no need to look for any other explanation. Perhaps +I may add, also, that I am much older than you, and I have traveled +a different road.... Outside of our special, so-called "literary" +interests, I am convinced, we have few points of contact. Your whole +being stretches out hands toward the future; mine is built up in the +past. For me to follow you is impossible. For you to follow me is +equally out of the question. You are too far removed from me, and +besides, you stand too firmly on your own legs to become any one's +disciple. I can assure you that I never attributed any malice to you, +never suspected you of any literary envy. I have often thought, if you +will excuse the expression, that you were wanting in common sense, but +never in goodness. You are too penetrating not to know that if either of +us has cause to envy the other, it is certainly not you that has cause +to envy me. + + +The following year he wrote a letter to my father which, it seems to me, +is a key to the understanding of Turgenieff's attitude toward him: + + +You write that you are very glad you did not follow my advice and become +a pure man of letters. I don't deny it; perhaps you are right. Still, +batter my poor brains as I may, I cannot imagine what else you are if +you are not a man of letters. A soldier? A squire? A philosopher? +The founder of a new religious doctrine? A civil servant? A man of +business?... Please resolve my difficulties, and tell me which of these +suppositions is correct. I am joking, but I really do wish beyond all +things to see you under way at last, with all sails set. + + +It seems to me that Turgenieff, as an artist, saw nothing in my father +beyond his great literary talent, and was unwilling to allow him the +right to be anything besides an artist and a writer. Any other line of +activity on my father's part offended Turgenieff, as it were, and he was +angry with my father because he did not follow his advice. He was much +older than my father, [18] he did not hesitate to rank his own talent +lower than my father's, and demanded only one thing of him, that he +should devote all the energies of his life to his literary work. And, lo +and behold! my father would have nothing to do with his magnanimity and +humility, would not listen to his advice, but insisted on going the road +which his own tastes and nature pointed out to him. Turgenieff's +tastes and character were diametrically opposed to my father's. While +opposition always inspired my father and lent him strength, it had just +the opposite effect on Turgenieff. + +Being wholly in agreement with my sister's views, I will merely +supplement them with the words uttered by his brother, Nikolai +Nikolayevitch, who said that "Turgenieff cannot reconcile himself to +the idea that Lyovotchka is growing up and freeing himself from his +tutelage." + +As a matter of fact, when Turgenieff was already a famous writer, no +one had ever heard of Tolstoy, and, as Fet expressed it, there was only +"something said about his stories from 'Childhood.'" + +I can imagine with what secret veneration a young writer, just +beginning, must have regarded Turgenieff at that time, and all the more +because Ivan Sergeyevitch was a great friend of my father's elder and +beloved brother Nikolai. + +I do not like to assert it positively, but it seems to me that just +as Turgenieff was unwilling to confine himself to "merely friendly +relations," so my father also felt too warmly toward Ivan Sergeyevitch, +and that was the very reason why they could never meet without +disagreeing and quarreling. In confirmation of what I say here is +a passage from a letter written by V. Botkin, a close friend of my +father's and of Ivan Sergeyevitch's, to A. A. Fet, written immediately +after their quarrel: + + +I think that Tolstoy really has a passionately affectionate nature +and he would like to love Turgenieff in the warmest way possible; but +unfortunately his impulsive feeling encounters nothing but a kindly, +good-natured indifference, and he can by no means reconcile himself to +that. + + +Turgenieff himself said that when they first came to know each other my +father dogged his heels "like a woman in love," and at one time he used +to avoid him, because he was afraid of his spirit of opposition. + +My father was perhaps irritated by the slightly patronizing tone which +Turgenieff adopted from the very outset of their acquaintance; and +Turgenieff was irritated by my father's "crankiness," which distracted +him from "his proper metier, literature." + +In 1870, before the date of the quarrel, Turgenieff wrote to Fet: + +"Lyoff Tolstoy continues to play the crank. It was evidently written in +his stars. When will he turn his last somersault and stand on his feet +at last?" + +Turgenieff was just the same about my father's "Confession," which he +read not long before his death. Having promised to read it, "to try to +understand it," and "not to lose my temper," he "started to write a long +letter in answer to the 'Confession,' but never finished it... for fear +of becoming disputatious." + +In a letter to D. V. Grigorevitch he called the book, which was based, +in his opinion, on false premises, "a denial of all live human life" and +"a new sort of Nihilism." + +It is evident that even then Turgenieff did not understand what a +mastery my father's new philosophy of life had obtained over him, and he +was inclined to attribute his enthusiasm along with the rest to the +same perpetual "crankinesses" and "somersaults" to which he had formerly +attributed his interest in school-teaching, agriculture, the publication +of a paper, and so forth. + + +IVAN SERGEYEVITCH three times visited Yasnaya Polyana within my memory, +in: August and September, 1878, and the third and last time at the +beginning of May, 1880. I can remember all these visits, although it is +quite possible that some details have escaped me. + +I remember that when we expected Turgenieff on his first visit, it was +a great occasion, and the most anxious and excited of all the household +about it was my mother. She told us that my father had quarreled with +Turgenieff and had once challenged him to a duel, and that he was now +coming at my father's invitation to effect a reconciliation. + +Turgenieff spent all the time sitting with my father, who during his +visit put aside even his work, and once in the middle of the day my +mother collected us all at a quite unusual hour in the drawing-room, +where Ivan Sergeyevitch read us his story of "The Dog." + +I can remember his tall, stalwart figure, his gray, silky, yellowish +hair, his soft tread, rather waddling walk, and his piping voice, quite +out of keeping with his majestic exterior. He had a chuckling kind of +laugh, like a child's, and when he laughed his voice was more piping +than ever. + +In the evening, after dinner, we all gathered in the zala. At that time +Uncle Seryozha, Prince Leonid Dmitryevitch Urusof, Vice-Governor of the +Province of Tula; Uncle Sasha Behrs and his young wife, the handsome +Georgian Patty; and the whole family of the Kuzminskys, were staying at +Yasnaya. + +Aunt Tanya was asked to sing. We listened with beating hearts, and +waited to hear what Turgenieff, the famous connoisseur, would say about +her singing. Of course he praised it, sincerely, I think. After the +singing a quadrille was got up. All of a sudden, in the middle of the +quadrille, Ivan Sergeyevitch, who was sitting at one side looking on, +got up and took one of the ladies by the hand, and, putting his thumbs +into the armholes of his waistcoat, danced a cancan according to the +latest rules of Parisian art. Everyone roared with laughter, Turgenieff +more than anybody. + +After tea the "grown-ups" started some conversation, and a warm dispute +arose among them. It was Prince Urusof who disputed most warmly, and +"went for" Turgenieff. + +Of Turgenieff's third visit I remember the woodcock shooting. This was +on the second or third of May, 1880. + +We all went out together beyond the Voronka, my father, my mother and +all the children. My father gave Turgenieff the best place and posted +himself one hundred and fifty paces away at the other end of the same +glade. + +My mother stood by Turgenieff, and we children lighted a bonfire not far +off. + +My father fired several shots and brought down two birds; Ivan +Sergeyevitch had no luck, and was envying my father's good fortune all +the time. At last, when it was beginning to get dark, a woodcock flew +over Turgenieff, and he shot it. + +"Killed it?" called out my father. + +"Fell like a stone; send your dog to pick him up," answered Ivan +Sergeyevitch. + +My father sent us with the dog, Turgenieff showed us where to look +for the bird; but search as we might, and the dog, too, there was no +woodcock to be found. At last Turgenieff came to help, and my father +came; there was no woodcock there. + +"Perhaps you only winged it; it may have got away along the ground," +said my father, puzzled. "It is impossible that the dog shouldn't find +it; he couldn't miss a bird that was killed." + +"I tell you I saw it with my own eyes, Lyoff Nikolaievich; it fell +like a stone. I didn't wound it; I killed it outright. I can tell the +difference." + +"Then why can't the dog find it? It's impossible; there's something +wrong." + +"I don't know anything about that," insisted Turgenieff. "You may take +it from me I'm not lying; it fell like a stone where I tell you." + +There was no finding the woodcock, and the incident left an unpleasant +flavor, as if one or the other of them was in the wrong. Either +Turgenieff was bragging when he said that he shot it dead, or my father, +in maintaining that the dog could not fail to find a bird that had been +killed. + +And this must needs happen just when they were both so anxious to avoid +every sort of misunderstanding! That was the very reason why they had +carefully fought shy of all serious conversation, and spent all their +time merely amusing themselves. + +When my father said good night to us that night, he whispered to us that +we were to get up early and go back to the place to have a good hunt for +the bird. + +And what was the result? The woodcock, in falling, had caught in the +fork of a branch, right at the top of an aspen-tree, and it was all we +could do to knock it out from there. + +When we brought it home in triumph, it was something of an "occasion," +and my father and Turgenieff were far more delighted than we were. It +turned out that they were both in the right, and everything ended to +their mutual satisfaction. + +Ivan Sergeyevitch slept down-stairs in my father's study. When the party +broke up for the night, I used to see him to his room, and while he was +undressing I sat on his bed and talked sport with him. + +He asked me if I could shoot. I said yes, but that I didn't care to go +out shooting because I had nothing but a rotten old one-barreled gun. + +"I'll give you a gun," he said. "I've got two in Paris, and I have no +earthly need for both. It's not an expensive gun, but it's a good one. +Next time I come to Russia I'll bring it with me." + +I was quite taken aback and thanked him heartily. I was tremendously +delighted at the idea that I was to have a real central-fire gun. + +Unfortunately, Turgenieff never came to Russia again. I tried afterward +to buy the gun he had spoken of from his legatees not in the quality of +a central-fire gun, but as Turgenieff's gun; but I did not succeed. + +That is all that I can remember about this delightful, naively cordial +man, with the childlike eyes and the childlike laugh, and in the picture +my mind preserves of him the memory of his grandeur melts into the charm +of his good nature and simplicity. + +In 1883 my father received from Ivan Sergeyevitch his last farewell +letter, written in pencil on his death-bed, and I remember with what +emotion he read it. And when the news of his death came, my father +would talk of nothing else for several days, and inquired everywhere for +details of his illness and last days. + +Apropos of this letter of Turgenieff's, I should like to say that my +father was sincerely annoyed, when he heard applied to himself the +epithet "great writer of the land of Russia," which was taken from this +letter. + +He always hated cliches, and he regarded this one as quite absurd. + +"Why not 'writer of the land'? I never heard before that a man could +be the writer of a land. People get attached to some nonsensical +expression, and go on repeating it in season and out of season." + +I have given extracts above from Turgenieff's letters, which show +the invariable consistency with which he lauded my father's literary +talents. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same of my father's attitude +toward Turgenieff. + +In this, too, the want of dispassionateness in his nature revealed +itself. Personal relations prevented him from being objective. + +In 1867, apropos of Turgenieff's "Smoke," which had just appeared, he +wrote to Fet: + + +There is hardly any love of anything in "Smoke" and hardly any poetry. +The only thing it shows love for is light and playful adultery, and +for that reason the poetry of the story is repulsive. ... I am timid in +expressing this opinion, because I cannot form a sober judgment about an +author whose personality I dislike. + +In 1865, before the final breach with Turgenieff, he wrote, again to +Fet: "I do not like 'Enough'!" A personal subjective treatment is never +good unless it is full of life and passion; but the subjectivity in this +case is full of lifeless suffering. + +In the autumn of 1883, after Turgenieff's death, when the family had +gone into Moscow for the winter, my father stayed at Yasnaya Polyana +alone, with Agafya Mikhailovna, and set earnestly about reading through +all Turgenieff's works. + +This is what he wrote to my mother at the time: + +I am always thinking about Turgenieff. I am intensely fond of him, and +sorry for him, and do nothing but read him. I live entirely with him. +I shall certainly give a lecture on him, or write it to be read; tell +Yuryef. + +"Enough"--read it; it is perfectly charming. + +Unfortunately, my father's intended lecture on Turgenieff never came +off. The Government forbade him to pay this last tribute to his dead +friend, with whom he had quarreled all his life only because he could +not be indifferent to him. + + + (To be continued) + + + + + +REMINISCENCES OF TOLSTOY (Part III.) + +BY HIS SON, COUNT ILYA TOLSTOY + +TRANSLATED BY GEORGE CALDERON + +AT this point I shall turn back and try to trace the influence which +my father had on my upbringing, and I shall recall as well as I can the +impressions that he left on my mind in my childhood, and later in the +melancholy days of my early manhood, which happened to coincide with the +radical change in his whole philosophy of life. + +In 1852, tired of life in the Caucasus and remembering his old home at +Yasnaya Polyana, he wrote to his aunt, Tatyana Alexandrovna: + +After some years, I shall find myself, neither very young nor very old, +back at Yasnaya Polyana again: my affairs will all be in order; I shall +have no anxieties for the future and no troubles in the present. + +You also will be living at Yasnaya. You will be getting a little old, +but you will be healthy and vigorous. We shall lead the life we led in +the old days; I shall work in the mornings, but we shall meet and see +each other almost all day. + +We shall dine together in the evening. I shall read you something that +interests you. Then we shall talk: I shall tell you about my life in the +Caucasus; you will give me reminiscences of my father and mother; you +will tell me some of those "terrible stories" to which we used to listen +in the old days with frightened eyes and open mouths. + +We shall talk about the people that we loved and who are no more. + +You will cry, and I, too; but our tears will be refreshing, +tranquilizing tears. We shall talk about my brothers, who will visit +us from time to time, and about dear Masha, who will also spend several +months every year at Yasnaya, which she loves, with all her children. + +We shall have no acquaintances; no one will come in to bore us with +gossip. + +It is a wonderful dream; but that is not all that I let myself dream of. + + I shall be married. My wife will be gentle, kind, and +affectionate; she will love you as I do; we shall have children who will +call you granny; you will live in the big house, in the same room on the +top floor where my grandmother lived before. + +The whole house will be run on the same lines as it was in my father's +time, and we shall begin the same life over again, but with a change of +roles. + + +You will take my grandmother's place, but you will be better still than +she was; I shall take my father's place, though I can never hope to be +worthy of the honor. + +My wife will take my mother's place, and the children ours. + +Masha will fill the part of both my aunts, except for their sorrow; +and there will even be Gasha there to take the place of Prashovya +Ilyinitchna. + +The only thing lacking will be some one to take the part you played +in the life of our family. We shall never find such a noble and loving +heart as yours. There is no one to succeed you. + +There will be three new faces that will appear among us from time to +time: my brothers, especially one who will often be with us, Nikolenka, +who will be an old bachelor, bald, retired, always the same kindly, +noble fellow. + + +Just ten years after this letter, my father married, and almost all his +dreams were realized, just as he had wished. Only the big house, with +his grandmother's room, was missing, and his brother Nikolenka, with the +dirty hands, for he died two years before, in 1860. In his family life +my father witnessed a repetition of the life of his parents, and in us +children he sought to find a repetition of himself and his brothers. We +were brought up as regular gentlefolk, proud of our social position and +holding aloof from all the outer world. Everything that was not us was +below us, and therefore unworthy of imitation. I knew that my father +felt very earnestly about the chastity of young people; I knew how much +strength he laid on purity. An early marriage seemed to me the best +solution of the difficult question that must harass every thoughtful boy +when he attains to man's estate. + +Two or three years later, when I was eighteen and we were living in +Moscow, I fell in love with a young lady I knew, my present wife, and +went almost every Saturday to her father's house. + +My father knew, but said nothing. One day when he was going out for a +walk I asked if I might go with him. As I very seldom went for walks +with him in Moscow, he guessed that I wanted to have a serious talk +with him about something, and after walking some distance in silence, +evidently feeling that I was shy about it and did not like to break the +ice, he suddenly began: + +"You seem to go pretty often to the F----s'." + +I said that I was very fond of the eldest daughter. + +"Oh, do you want to marry her?" + +"Yes." + +"Is she a good girl? Well, mind you don't make a mistake, and don't be +false to her," he said with a curious gentleness and thoughtfulness. + +I left him at once and ran back home, delighted, along the Arbat. I was +glad that I had told him the truth, and his affectionate and cautious +way of taking it strengthened my affection both for him, to whom I was +boundlessly grateful for his cordiality, and for her, whom I loved +still more warmly from that moment, and to whom I resolved still more +fervently never to be untrue. + +My father's tactfulness toward us amounted almost to timidity. There +were certain questions which he could never bring himself to touch on +for fear of causing us pain. I shall never forget how once in Moscow +I found him sitting writing at the table in my room when I dashed in +suddenly to change my clothes. + +My bed stood behind a screen, which hid him from me. + +When he heard my footsteps he said, without looking round: + +"Is that you, Ilya?" + +"Yes, it's I." + +"Are you alone? Shut the door. There's no one to hear us, and we can't +see each other, so we shall not feel ashamed. Tell me, did you ever have +anything to do with women?" + +When I said no, I suddenly heard him break out sobbing, like a little +child. + +I sobbed and cried, too, and for a long time we stayed weeping tears of +joy, with the screen between us, and we were neither of us ashamed, but +both so joyful that I look on that moment as one of the happiest in my +whole life. + +No arguments or homilies could ever have effected what the emotion I +experienced at that moment did. Such tears as those shed by a father +of sixty can never be forgotten even in moments of the strongest +temptation. + +My father observed my inward life most attentively between the ages of +sixteen and twenty, noted all my doubts and hesitations, encouraged me +in my good impulses, and often found fault with me for inconsistency. + +I still have some of his letters written at that time. Here are two: + + +I had just written you, my dear friend Ilya, a letter that was true to +my own feelings, but, I am afraid, unjust, and I am not sending it. I +said unpleasant things in it, but I have no right to do so. I do not +know you as I should like to and as I ought to know you. That is my +fault. And I wish to remedy it. I know much in you that I do not like, +but I do not know everything. As for your proposed journey home, I think +that in your position of student, not only student of a gymnase, but +at the age of study, it is better to gad about as little as possible; +moreover, all useless expenditure of money that you can easily refrain +from is immoral, in my opinion, and in yours, too, if you only consider +it. If you come, I shall be glad for my own sake, so long as you are not +inseparable from G----. + +Do as you think best. But you must work, both with your head, thinking +and reading, and with your heart; that is, find out for yourself what is +really good and what is bad, although it seems to be good. I kiss you. + + L. T. + +Dear Friend Ilya: + +There is always somebody or something that prevents me from answering +your two letters, which are important and dear to me, especially the +last. First it was Baturlin, then bad health, insomnia, then the arrival +of D----, the friend of H---- that I wrote you about. He is sitting at +tea talking to the ladies, neither understanding the other; so I left +them, and want to write what little I can of all that I think about you. + +Even supposing that S---- A---- demands too much of you, [19] there is +no harm in waiting; especially from the point of view of fortifying your +opinions, your faith. That is the one important thing. If you don't, it +is a fearful disaster to put off from one shore and not reach the other. + +The one shore is an honest and good life, for your own delight and the +profit of others. But there is a bad life, too--a life so sugared, so +common to all, that if you follow it, you do not notice that it is a bad +life, and suffer only in your conscience, if you have one; but if you +leave it, and do not reach the real shore, you will be made miserable +by solitude and by the reproach of having deserted your fellows, and you +will be ashamed. In short, I want to say that it is out of the question +to want to be rather good; it is out of the question to jump into the +water unless you know how to swim. One must be truthful and wish to be +good with all one's might, too. Do you feel this in you? The drift of +what I say is that we all know what PRINCESS MARYA ALEXEVNA [20] verdict +about your marriage would be: that if young people marry without a +sufficient fortune, it means children, poverty, getting tired of each +other in a year or two; in ten years, quarrels, want--hell. And in +all this PRINCESS MARYA ALEXEVNA is perfectly right and plays the true +prophet, unless these young people who are getting married have another +purpose, their one and only one, unknown to PRINCESS MARYA ALEXEVNA, and +that not a brainish purpose, not one recognized by the intellect, but +one that gives life its color and the attainment of which is more moving +than any other. If you have this, good; marry at once, and give the lie +to PRINCESS MARYA ALEXEVNA. If not, it is a hundred to one that your +marriage will lead to nothing but misery. I am speaking to you from the +bottom of my heart. Receive my words into the bottom of yours, and weigh +them well. Besides love for you as a son, I have love for you also as a +man standing at the cross-ways. I kiss you and Lyolya and Noletchka and +Seryozha, if he is back. We are all alive and well. + + +The following letter belongs to the same period: + +Your letter to Tanya has arrived, my dear friend Ilya, and I see +that you are still advancing toward that purpose which you set up for +yourself; and I want to write to you and to her--for no doubt you tell +her everything--what I think about it. Well, I think about it a great +deal, with joy and with fear mixed. This is what I think. If one marries +in order to enjoy oneself more, no good will ever come of it. To set up +as one's main object, ousting everything else, marriage, union with the +being you love, is a great mistake. And an obvious one, if you think +about it. Object, marriage. Well, you marry; and what then? If you had +no other object in life before your marriage, it will be twice as hard +to find one. + +As a rule, people who are getting married completely forget this. + +So many joyful events await them in the future, in wedlock and the +arrival of children, that those events seem to constitute life itself. +But this is indeed a dangerous illusion. + +If parents merely live from day to day, begetting children, and have no +purpose in life, they are only putting off the question of the purpose +of life and that punishment which is allotted to people who live without +knowing why; they are only putting it off and not escaping it, because +they will have to bring up their children and guide their steps, but +they will have nothing to guide them by. And then the parents lose their +human qualities and the happiness which depends on the possession of +them, and turn into mere breeding cattle. + +That is why I say that people who are proposing to marry because their +life SEEMS to them to be full must more than ever set themselves to +think and make clear to their own minds for the sake of what each of +them lives. + +And in order to make this clear, you must consider the circumstances +in which you live, your past. Reckon up what you consider important and +what unimportant in life. Find out what you believe in; that is, what +you look on as eternal and immutable truth, and what you will take for +your guide in life. And not only find out, but make clear to your own +mind, and try to practise or to learn to practise in your daily life; +because until you practise what you believe you cannot tell whether you +believe it or not. + +I know your faith, and that faith, or those sides of it which can be +expressed in deeds, you must now more than ever make clear to your own +mind, by putting them into practice. + +Your faith is that your welfare consists in loving people and being +loved by them. For the attainment of this end I know of three lines of +action in which I perpetually exercise myself, in which one can never +exercise oneself enough and which are specially necessary to you now. + +First, in order to be able to love people and to be loved by them, one +must accustom oneself to expect as little as possible from them, and +that is very hard work; for if I expect much, and am often disappointed, +I am inclined rather to reproach them than to love them. + +Second, in order to love people not in words, but in deed, one must +train oneself to do what benefits them. That needs still harder +work, especially at your age, when it is one's natural business to be +studying. + +Third, in order to love people and to b. l. b. t., [21] one must train +oneself to gentleness, humility, the art of bearing with disagreeable +people and things, the art of behaving to them so as not to offend any +one, of being able to choose the least offense. And this is the hardest +work of all--work that never ceases from the time you wake till the time +you go to sleep, and the most joyful work of all, because day after day +you rejoice in your growing success in it, and receive a further reward, +unperceived at first, but very joyful after, in being loved by others. + +So I advise you, Friend Ilya, and both of you, to live and to think as +sincerely as you can, because it is the only way you can discover if +you are really going along the same road, and whether it is wise to +join hands or not; and at the same time, if you are sincere, you must be +making your future ready. + +Your purpose in life must not be the joy of wedlock, but, by your life +to bring more love and truth into the world. The object of marriage is +to help one another in the attainment of that purpose. + +The vilest and most selfish life is the life of the people who have +joined together only in order to enjoy life; and the highest vocation +in the world is that of those who live in order to serve God by bringing +good into the world, and who have joined together for that very purpose. +Don't mistake half-measures for the real thing. Why should a man not +choose the highest? Only when you have chosen the highest, you must set +your whole heart on it, and not just a little. Just a little leads to +nothing. There, I am tired of writing, and still have much left that I +wanted to say. I kiss you. + + + + +HELP FOR THE FAMINE-STRICKEN + +AFTER my father had come to the conclusion that it was not only useless +to help people with money, but immoral, the part he took in distributing +food among the peasants during the famines of 1890, 1891, and 1898 may +seem to have shown inconsistency and contradiction of thought. + +"If a horseman sees that his horse is tired out, he must not remain +seated on its back and hold up its head, but simply get off," he used to +say, condemning all the charities of the well-fed people who sit on the +back of the working classes, continue to enjoy all the benefits of their +privileged position, and merely give from their superfluity. + +He did not believe in the good of such charity and considered it a +form of self-hallucination, all the more harmful because people thereby +acquire a sort of moral right to continue that idle, aristocratic life +and get to go on increasing the poverty of the people. + +In the autumn of 1890 my father thought of writing an article on the +famine, which had then spread over nearly all Russia. + +Although from the newspapers and from the accounts brought by those who +came from the famine-stricken parts he already knew about the extent of +the peasantry's disaster, nevertheless, when his old friend Ivanovitch +Rayovsky called on him at Yasnaya Polyana and proposed that he should +drive through to the Dankovski District with him in order to see the +state of things in the villages for himself, he readily agreed, and went +with him to his property at Begitchovka. + +He went there with the intention of staying only for a day or two; but +when he saw what a call there was for immediate measures, he at once set +to work to help Rayovsky, who had already instituted several kitchens in +the villages, in relieving the distress of the peasantry, at first on +a small scale, and then, when big subscriptions began to pour in from +every side, on a continually increasing one. The upshot of it was that +he devoted two whole years of his life to the work. + +It is wrong to think that my father showed any inconsistency in this +matter. He did not delude himself for a moment into thinking he was +engaged on a virtuous and momentous task, but when he saw the sufferings +of the people, he simply could not bear to go on living comfortably at +Yasnaya or in Moscow any longer, but had to go out and help in order to +relieve his own feelings. Once he wrote: + + +There is much about it that is not what it ought to be; there is S. A.'s +money [22] and the subscriptions; there is the relation of those who +feed and those who are fed. THERE IS SIN WITHOUT END, but I cannot stay +at home and write. I feel the necessity of taking part in it, of doing +something. + +Six years later I worked again at the same job with my father in +Tchornski and Mtsenski districts. + +After the bad crops of the two preceding years it became clear by the +beginning of the winter of 1898 that a new famine was approaching in our +neighborhood, and that charitable assistance to the peasantry would be +needed. I turned to my father for help. By the spring he had managed to +collect some money, and at the beginning of April he came himself to see +me. + +I must say that my father, who was very economical by nature, was +extraordinarily cautious and, I may say, even parsimonious in charitable +matters. It is of course easy to understand, if one considers the +unlimited confidence which he enjoyed among the subscribers and the +great moral responsibility which he could not but feel toward them. So +that before undertaking anything he had himself to be fully convinced of +the necessity of giving aid. + +The day after his arrival, we saddled a couple of horses and rode out. +We rode as we had ridden together twenty years before, when we went out +coursing with our greyhounds; that is, across country, over the fields. + +It was all the same to me which way we rode, as I believed that all the +neighboring villages were equally distressed, and my father, for the +sake of old memories, wanted to revisit Spasskoye Lyutovinovo, which +was only six miles from me, and where he had not been since Turgenieff's +death. On the way there I remember he told me all about Turgenieff's +mother, who was famous through all the neighborhood for her remarkable +intelligence, energy, and craziness. I do not know that he ever saw +her himself, or whether he was telling me only the reports that he had +heard. + +As we rode across the Turgenieff's park, he recalled in passing how of +old he and Ivan Sergeyevitch had disputed which park was best, Spasskoye +or Yasnaya Polyana. I asked him: + +"And now which do you think?" + +"Yasnaya Polyana IS the best, though this is very fine, very fine +indeed." + +In the village we visited the head-man's and two or three other +cottages, and came away disappointed. There was no famine. + +The peasants, who had been endowed at the emancipation with a full share +of good land, and had enriched themselves since by wage-earnings, were +hardly in want at all. It is true that some of the yards were badly +stocked; but there was none of that acute degree of want which amounts +to famine and which strikes the eye at once. + +I even remember my father reproaching me a little for having sounded the +alarm when there was no sufficient cause for it, and for a little while +I felt rather ashamed and awkward before him. + +Of course when he talked to the peasants he asked each of them if he +remembered Turgenieff and eagerly picked up anything they had to say +about him. Some of the old men remembered him and spoke of him with +great affection. + + + + +MY FATHER'S ILLNESS IN THE CRIMEA + +IN the autumn of 1901 my father was attacked by persistent feverishness, +and the doctors advised him to spend the winter in the Crimea. Countess +Panina kindly lent him her Villa Gaspra, near Koreiz, and he spent the +winter there. + +Soon after his arrival, he caught cold and had two illnesses one after +the other, enteric fever and inflammation of the lungs. At one time his +condition was so bad that the doctors had hardly any hope that he would +ever rise from his bed again. Despite the fact that his temperature +went up very high, he was conscious all the time; he dictated some +reflections every day, and deliberately prepared for death. + +The whole family was with him, and we all took turns in helping to nurse +him. I look back with pleasure on the nights when it fell to me to be on +duty by him, and I sat in the balcony by the open window, listening +to his breathing and every sound in his room. My chief duty, as the +strongest of the family, was to lift him up while the sheets were being +changed. When they were making the bed, I had to hold him in my arms +like a child. + +I remember how my muscles quivered one day with the exertion. He looked +at me with astonishment and said: + +"You surely don't find me heavy? What nonsense!" + +I thought of the day when he had given me a bad time at riding in the +woods as a boy, and kept asking, "You're not tired?" + +Another time during the same illness he wanted me to carry him +down-stairs in my arms by the winding stone staircase. + +"Pick me up as they do a baby and carry me." + +He had not a grain of fear that I might stumble and kill him. It was all +I could do to insist on his being carried down in an arm-chair by three +of us. + +Was my father afraid of death? + +It is impossible to answer the question in one word. With his tough +constitution and physical strength, he always instinctively fought not +only against death, but against old age. Till the last year of his life +he never gave in, but always did everything for himself and even rode on +horseback. + +To suppose, therefore, that he had no instinctive fear of death is out +of the question. He had that fear, and in a very high degree, but he was +constantly fighting to overcome it. + +Did he succeed? + +I can answer definitely yes. During his illness he talked a great deal +of death and prepared himself for it firmly and deliberately. When he +felt that he was getting weaker, he wished to say good-by to everybody, +and he called us all separately to his bedside, one after the other, and +gave his last words of advice to each. He was so weak that he spoke in a +half-whisper, and when he had said good-by to one, he had to rest for a +while and collect his strength for the rest. + +When my turn came, he said as nearly as I can remember: + +"You are still young and strong and tossed by storms of passion. You +have not therefore yet been able to think over the chief questions of +life. But this stage will pass. I am sure of it. When the time comes, +believe me, you will find the truth in the teachings of the Gospel. I +am dying peacefully simply because I have come to know that teaching and +believe in it. May God grant you this knowledge soon! Good-by." + +I kissed his hand and left the room quietly. When I got to the front +door, I rushed to a lonely stone tower, and there sobbed my heart out +in the darkness like a child. Looking round at last, I saw that some one +else was sitting on the staircase near me, also crying. + +So I said farewell to my father years before his death, and the memory +of it is dear to me, for I know that if I had seen him before his death +at Astapova he would have said just the same to me. + +To return to the question of death, I will say that so far from +being afraid of it, in his last days he often desired it; he was +more interested in it than afraid of it. This "greatest of mysteries" +interested him to such a degree that his interest came near to love. How +eagerly he listened to accounts of the death of his friends, Turgenieff, +Gay, Leskof, [23] Zhemtchuzhnikof [24]; and others! He inquired after +the smallest matters; no detail, however trifling in appearance, was +without its interest and importance to him. + +His "Circle of Reading," November 7, the day he died, is devoted +entirely to thoughts on death. + +"Life is a dream, death is an awakening," he wrote, while in expectation +of that awakening. + +Apropos of the "Circle of Reading," I cannot refrain from relating a +characteristic incident which I was told by one of my sisters. + +When my father had made up his mind to compile that collection of the +sayings of the wise, to which he gave the name of "Circle of Reading," +he told one of his friends about it. + +A few days afterward this friend came to see him again, and at once told +him that he and his wife had been thinking over his scheme for the new +book and had come to the conclusion that he ought to call it "For Every +Day," instead of "Circle of Reading." + +To this my father replied that he preferred the title "Circle of +Reading" because the word "circle" suggested the idea of continuous +reading, which was what he meant to express by the title. + +Half an hour later the friend came across the room to him and repeated +exactly the same remark again. This time my father made no reply. In +the evening, when the friend was preparing to go home, as he was saying +good-by to my father, he held his hand in his and began once more: + +"Still, I must tell you, Lyoff Nikolaievich, that I and my wife have +been thinking it over, and we have come to the conclusion," and so on, +word for word the same. + +"No, no, I want to die--to die as soon as possible," groaned my father +when he had seen the friend off. + +"Isn't it all the same whether it's 'Circle of Reading' or 'For Every +Day'? No, it's time for me to die: I cannot live like this any longer." + +And, after all, in the end, one of the editions of the sayings of the +wise was called "For Every Day" instead of "Circle of Reading." + +"Ah, my dear, ever since this Mr. ---- turned up, I really don't know +which of Lyoff Nikolaievich's writings are by Lyoff Nikolaievich and +which are by Mr. ----!" murmured our old friend, the pure-hearted and +far from malicious Marya Alexandrovna Schmidt. + +This sort of intrusion into my father's work as an author bore, in the +"friend's" language, the modest title of "corrections beforehand," and +there is no doubt that Marya Alexandrovna was right, for no one will +ever know where what my father wrote ends and where his concessions to +Mr. ----'s persistent "corrections beforehand" begin, all the more as +this careful adviser had the forethought to arrange that when my father +answered his letters he was always to return him the letters they were +answers to.[25] + +Besides the desire for death that my father displayed, in the last years +of his life he cherished another dream, which he made no secret of +his hope of realizing, and that was the desire to suffer for his +convictions. The first impulse in this direction was given him by +the persecution on the part of the authorities to which, during his +lifetime, many of his friends and fellow-thinkers were subjected. + +When he heard of any one being put in jail or deported for disseminating +his writings, he was so disturbed about it that one was really sorry +for him. I remember my arrival at Yasnaya some days after Gusef's +arrest.[26] I stayed two days with my father, and heard of nothing but +Gusef. As if there were nobody in the world but Gusef! I must confess +that, sorry as I was for Gusef, who was shut up at the time in the local +prison at Krapivna, I harbored a most wicked feeling of resentment at +my father's paying so little attention to me and the rest of those about +him and being so absorbed in the thought of Gusef. + +I willingly acknowledge that I was wrong in entertaining this +narrow-minded feeling. If I had entered fully into what my father was +feeling, I should have seen this at the time. + +As far back as 1896, in consequence of the arrest of a doctor, Miss +N----, in Tula, my father wrote a long letter to Muravyof, the Minister +of Justice, in which he spoke of the "unreasonableness, uselessness, +and cruelty of the measures taken by the Government against those who +disseminate these forbidden writings," and begged him to "direct the +measures taken to punish or intimidate the perpetrators of the evil, +or to put an end to it, against the man whom you regard as the real +instigator of it... all the more, as I assure you beforehand, that I +shall continue without ceasing till my death to do what the Government +considers evil and what I consider my sacred duty before God." + +As every one knows, neither this challenge nor the others that followed +it led to any result, and the arrests and deportations of those +associated with him still went on. + +My father felt himself morally responsible toward all those who suffered +on his account, and every year new burdens were laid on his conscience. + + + + +MASHA'S DEATH + +As I reach the description of the last days of my father's life, I must +once more make it clear that what I write is based only on the personal +impressions I received in my periodical visits to Yasnaya Polyana. + +Unfortunately, I have no rich shorthand material to rely on, such as +Gusef and Bulgakof had for their memoirs, and more especially +Dushan Petrovitch Makowicki, who is preparing, I am told, a big and +conscientious work, full of truth and interest. + +In November, 1906, my sister Masha died of inflammation of the lungs. +It is a curious thing that she vanished out of life with just as little +commotion as she had passed through it. Evidently this is the lot of all +the pure in heart. + +No one was particularly astonished by her death. I remember that when I +received the telegram, I felt no surprise. It seemed perfectly natural +to me. Masha had married a kinsman of ours, Prince Obolenski; she lived +on her own estate at Pirogovo, twenty-one miles from us, and spent half +the year with her husband at Yasnaya. She was very delicate and had +constant illnesses. + +When I arrived at Yasnaya the day after her death, I was aware of an +atmosphere of exaltation and prayerful emotion about the whole family, +and it was then I think for the first time that I realized the full +grandeur and beauty of death. + +I definitely felt that by her death Masha, so far from having gone away +from us, had come nearer to us, and had been, as it were, welded to us +forever in a way that she never could have been during her lifetime. + +I observed the same frame of mind in my father. He went about silent and +woebegone, summoning all his strength to battle with his own sorrow; but +I never heard him utter a murmur of a complaint, only words of tender +emotion. When the coffin was carried to the church he changed his +clothes and went with the cortege. When he reached the stone pillars +he stopped us, said farewell to the departed, and walked home along the +avenue. I looked after him and watched him walk away across the wet, +thawing snow with his short, quick old man's steps, turning his toes out +at a sharp angle, as he always did, and never once looking round. + +My sister Masha had held a position of great importance in my father's +life and in the life of the whole family. Many a time in the last few +years have we had occasion to think of her and to murmur sadly: "If only +Masha had been with us! If only Masha had not died!" + +In order to explain the relations between Masha and my father I must +turn back a considerable way. There was one distinguishing and, at first +sight, peculiar trait in my father's character, due perhaps to the fact +that he grew up without a mother, and that was that all exhibitions of +tenderness were entirely foreign to him. + +I say "tenderness" in contradistinction to heartiness. Heartiness he had +and in a very high degree. + +His description of the death of my Uncle Nikolai is characteristic in +this connection. In a letter to his other brother, Sergei Nikolayevitch, +in which he described the last day of his brother's life, my father +tells how he helped him to undress. + +"He submitted, and became a different man.... He had a word of praise +for everybody, and said to me, 'Thanks, my friend.' You understand the +significance of the words as between us two." + +It is evident that in the language of the Tolstoy brothers the phrase +"my friend" was an expression of tenderness beyond which imagination +could not go. The words astonished my father even on the lips of his +dying brother. + +During all his lifetime I never received any mark of tenderness from him +whatever. + +He was not fond of kissing children, and when he did so in saying good +morning or good night, he did it merely as a duty. + +It is therefore easy to understand that he did not provoke any display +of tenderness toward himself, and that nearness and dearness with him +were never accompanied by any outward manifestations. + +It would never have come into my head, for instance, to walk up to my +father and kiss him or to stroke his hand. I was partly prevented also +from that by the fact that I always looked up to him with awe, and his +spiritual power, his greatness, prevented me from seeing in him the mere +man--the man who was so plaintive and weary at times, the feeble old man +who so much needed warmth and rest. + +The only person who could give him that warmth was Masha. + +She would go up to him, stroke his hand, caress him, and say something +affectionate, and you could see that he liked it, was happy, and even +responded in kind. It was as if he became a different man with her. Why +was it that Masha was able to do this, while no one else even dared to +try? If any other of us had done it, it would have seemed unnatural, but +Masha could do it with perfect simplicity and sincerity. + +I do not mean to say that others about my father loved him less than +Masha; not at all; but the display of love for him was never so warm and +at the same time so natural with any one else as with her. + +So that with Masha's death my father was deprived of this natural source +of warmth, which, with advancing years, had become more and more of a +necessity for him. + +Another and still greater power that she possessed was her remarkably +delicate and sensitive conscience. This trait in her was still dearer to +my father than her caresses. + +How good she was at smoothing away all misunderstandings! How she always +stood up for those who were found any fault with, justly or unjustly! It +was all the same to her. Masha could reconcile everybody and everything. + +During the last years of his life my father's health perceptibly grew +worse. Several times he had the most sudden and inexplicable sort +of fainting fits, from which he used to recover the next day, but +completely lost his memory for a time. + +Seeing my brother Andrei's children, who were staying at Yasnaya, in the +zala one day, he asked with some surprise, "Whose children are these?" +Meeting my wife, he said, "Don't be offended, my dear; I know that I am +very fond of you, but I have quite forgotten who you are"; and when he +went up to the zala after one of these fainting fits, he looked round +with an astonished air and said, "Where's my brother Nitenka." Nitenka +had died fifty years before. + +The day following all traces of the attack would disappear. + +During one of these fainting fits my brother Sergei, in undressing my +father, found a little note-book on him. He put it in his own pocket, +and next day, when he came to see my father, he handed it back to him, +telling him that he had not read it. + +"There would have been no harm in YOUR seeing it," said my father, as he +took it back. + +This little diary in which he wrote down his most secret thoughts and +prayers was kept "for himself alone," and he never showed it to any one. +I saw it after my father's death. It is impossible to read it without +tears. + +It is curious that the sudden decay of my father's memory displayed +itself only in the matter of real facts and people. He was entirely +unaffected in his literary work, and everything that he wrote down to +the last days of his life is marked by his characteristic logicalness +and force. It may be that the reason he forgot the details of real life +was because he was too deeply absorbed in his abstract work. + +My wife was at Yasnaya Polyana in October, and when she came home she +told me that there was something wrong there. "Your mother is nervous +and hysterical; your father is in a silent and gloomy frame of mind." + +I was very busy with my office work, but made up my mind to devote my +first free day to going and seeing my father and mother. + +When I got to Yasnaya, my father had already left it. + +I paid Aunt Masha a visit some little time after my father's funeral. We +sat together in her comfortable little cell, and she repeated to me once +more in detail the oft-repeated story of my father's last visit to her. + +"He sat in that very arm-chair where you are sitting now, and how he +cried!" she said. + +"When Sasha arrived with her girl friend, they set to work studying this +map of Russia and planning out a route to the Caucasus. Lyovotchka sat +there thoughtful and melancholy. + +"'Never mind, Papa; it'll be all right,' said Sasha, trying to encourage +him. + +"'Ah, you women, you women!' answered her father, bitterly. 'How can it +ever be all right?' + +"I so much hoped that he would settle down here; it would just have +suited him. And it was his own idea, too; he had even taken a cottage in +the village," Aunt Masha sadly recalled. + +"When he left me to go back to the hotel where he was staying, it seemed +to me that he was rather calmer. + +"When he said good-by, he even made some joke about his having come to +the wrong door. + +"I certainly would never have imagined that he would go away again that +same night." + +It was a grievous trial for Aunt Masha when the old confessor Iosif, +who was her spiritual director, forbade her to pray for her dead brother +because he had been excommunicated. She was too broad-minded to be able +to reconcile herself to the harsh intolerance of the church, and for a +time she was honestly indignant. Another priest to whom she applied also +refused her request. + +Marya Nikolayevna could not bring herself to disobey her spiritual +fathers, but at the same time she felt that she was not really obeying +their injunction, for she prayed for him all the same, in thought, if +not in words. + +There is no knowing how her internal discord would have ended if her +father confessor, evidently understanding the moral torment she was +suffering, had not given her permission to pray for her brother, but +only in her cell and in solitude, so as not to lead others astray. + + + + +MY FATHER'S WILL. CONCLUSION + +ALTHOUGH my father had long since renounced the copyright in all his +works written after 1883, and although, after having made all his real +estate over to his children, he had, as a matter of fact, no property +left, still he could not but be aware that his life was far from +corresponding to his principles, and this consciousness perpetually +preyed upon his mind. One has only to read some of his posthumous works +attentively to see that the idea of leaving home and radically altering +his whole way of life had presented itself to him long since and was a +continual temptation to him. + +This was the cherished dream that always allured him, but which he did +not think himself justified in putting into practice. + +The life of the Christian must be a "reasonable and happy life IN +ALL POSSIBLE CIRCUMSTANCES," he used to say as he struggled with the +temptation to go away, and gave up his own soul for others. + +I remember reading in Gusef's memoirs how my father once, in +conversation with Gusoryof, the peasant, who had made up his mind +to leave his home for religious reasons, said, "My life is a hundred +thousand times more loathsome than yours, but yet I cannot leave it." + +I shall not enumerate all the letters of abuse and amazement which +my father received from all sides, upbraiding him with luxury, with +inconsistency, and even with torturing his peasants. It is easy to +imagine what an impression they made on him. + +He said there was good reason to revile him; he called their abuse "a +bath for the soul," but internally he suffered from the "bath," and saw +no way out of his difficulties. He bore his cross, and it was in this +self-renunciation that his power consisted, though many either could not +or would not understand it. He alone, despite all those about him, knew +that this cross was laid on him not of man, but of God; and while he was +strong, he loved his burden and shared it with none. + +Just as thirty years before he had been haunted by the temptation to +suicide, so now he struggled with a new and more powerful temptation, +that of flight. + +A few days before he left Yasnaya he called on Marya Alexandrovna +Schmidt at Ovsyanniki and confessed to her that he wanted to go away. + +The old lady held up her hands in horror and said: + +"Gracious Heavens, Lyoff Nikolaievich, have you come to such a pitch of +weakness?" + +When I learned, on October 28, 1910, that my father had left Yasnaya, +the same idea occurred to me, and I even put it into words in a letter I +sent to him at Shamerdino by my sister Sasha. + +I did not know at the time about certain circumstances which have since +made a great deal clear to me that was obscure before. + +From the moment of my father's death till now I have been racking my +brains to discover what could have given him the impulse to take that +last step. What power could compel him to yield in the struggle in which +he had held firmly and tenaciously for many years? What was the last +drop, the last grain of sand that turned the scales, and sent him forth +to search for a new life on the very edge of the grave? + +Could he really have fled from home because the wife that he had lived +with for forty-eight years had developed neurasthenia and at one time +showed certain abnormalities characteristic of that malady? Was that +like the man who so loved his fellows and so well knew the human heart? +Or did he suddenly desire, when he was eighty-three, and weak and +helpless, to realize the idea of a pilgrim's life? + +If so, why did he take my sister Sasha and Dr. Makowicki with him? +He could not but know that in their company he would be just as well +provided with all the necessaries of life as he would have been at +Yasnaya Polyana. It would have been the most palpable self-deception. + +Knowing my father as I did, I felt that the question of his flight was +not so simple as it seemed to others, and the problem lay long unsolved +before me until it was suddenly made clear by the will that he left +behind him. + +I remember how, after N. S. Leskof's death, my father read me his +posthumous instructions with regard to a pauper funeral, with no +speeches at the grave, and so on, and how the idea of writing his own +will then came into his head for the first time. + +His first will was written in his diary, on March 27, 1895. [27] + +The fourth paragraph, to which I wish to call particular attention, +contains a request to his next of kin to transfer the right of +publishing his writings to society at large, or, in other words, to +renounce the copyright of them. + +"But I only request it, and do not direct it. It is a good thing to do. +And it will be good for you to do it; but if you do not do it, that is +your affair. It means that you are not yet ready to do it. The fact that +my writings have been bought and sold during these last ten years has +been the most painful thing in my whole life to me." + +Three copies were made of this will, and they were kept by my sister +Masha, my brother Sergei, and Tchertkof. + +I knew of its existence, but I never saw it till after my father's +death, and I never inquired of anybody about the details. + +I knew my father's views about copyright, and no will of his could have +added anything to what I knew. I knew, moreover, that this will was not +properly executed according to the forms of law, and personally I was +glad of that, for I saw in it another proof of my father's confidence +in his family. I need hardly add that I never doubted that my father's +wishes would be carried out. + +My sister Masha, with whom I once had a conversation on the subject, was +of the same opinion. + +In 1909 my father stayed with Mr. Tchertkof at Krekshin, and there for +the first time he wrote a formal will, attested by the signature of +witnesses. How this will came to be written I do not know, and I do not +intend to discuss it. It afterward appeared that it also was imperfect +from a legal point of view, and in October, 1909, it had all to be done +again. + +As to the writing of the third we are fully informed by Mr. F. Strakhof +in an article which he published in the St. Petersburg "Gazette" on +November 6, 1911. + +Mr. Strakhof left Moscow at night. He had calculated on Sofya +Andreyevna, [28] whose presence at Yasnaya Polyana was highly +inexpedient for the business on which he was bound, being still in +Moscow. + +The business in question, as was made clear in the preliminary +consultation which V. G. Tchertkof held with N. K. Muravyof, +the solicitor, consisted in getting fresh signatures from Lyoff +Nikolaievich, whose great age made it desirable to make sure, without +delay, of his wishes being carried out by means of a more unassailable +legal document. Strakhof brought the draft of the will with him, and +laid it before Lyoff Nikolaievich. After reading the paper through, he +at once wrote under it that he agreed with its purport, and then added, +after a pause: + +"All this business is very disagreeable to me, and it is unnecessary. To +insure the propagation of my ideas by taking all sorts of measures--why, +no word can perish without leaving its trace, if it expresses a truth, +and if the man who utters it believes profoundly in its truth. But all +these outward means for insuring it only come of our disbelief in what +we utter." + +And with these words Lyoff Nikolaievich left the study. + +Thereupon Mr. Strakhof began to consider what he must do next, whether +he should go back with empty hands, or whether he should argue it out. + +He decided to argue it out, and endeavored to explain to my father +how painful it would be for his friends after his death to hear people +blaming him for not having taken any steps, despite his strong opinion +on the subject, to see that his wishes were carried out, and for having +thereby helped to transfer his copyrights to the members of his family. + +Tolstoy promised to think it over, and left the room again. + +At dinner Sofya Andreyevna "was evidently far from having any +suspicions." When Tolstoy was not by, however, she asked Mr. Strakhof +what he had come down about. Inasmuch as Mr. Strakhof had other affairs +in hand besides the will, he told her about one thing and another with +an easy conscience. + +Mr. Strakhof described a second visit to Yasnaya, when he came to attest +the same will as a witness. + +When he arrived, he said: "The countess had not yet come down. I +breathed again." + +Of his departure, he said: + + +As I said good-by to Sofya Andreyevna, I examined her countenance +attentively. Such complete tranquillity and cordiality toward her +departing guests were written on it that I had not the smallest doubt +of her complete ignorance of what was going on.... I left the house with +the pleasing consciousness of a work well done--a work that was destined +to have a considerable historic consequence. I only felt some little +twinge within, certain qualms of conscience about the conspiratorial +character of the transaction. + + +But even this text of the will did not quite satisfy my father's +"friends and advisers"; it was redrafted for the fourth and last time in +July, 1910. + +This last draft was written by my father himself in the Limonovski +Forest, two miles from the house, not far from Mr. Tchertkof's estate. + +Such is the melancholy history of this document, which was destined to +have historic consequences. "All this business is very disagreeable to +me, and it is unnecessary," my father said when he signed the paper that +was thrust before him. That was his real opinion about his will, and it +never altered to the end of his days. + +Is there any need of proof for that? I think one need know very little +of his convictions to have no doubt about it. + +Was Lyoff Nikolaievich Tolstoy likely of his own accord to have recourse +to the protection of the law? And, if he did, was he likely to conceal +it from his wife and children? + +He had been put into a position from which there was absolutely no way +out. To tell his wife was out of the question; it would have grievously +offended his friends. To have destroyed the will would have been worse +still; for his friends had suffered for his principles morally, and some +of them materially, and had been exiled from Russia. He felt himself +bound to them. + +And on the top of all this were his fainting fits, his increasing loss +of memory, the clear consciousness of the approach of death, and the +continually growing nervousness of his wife, who felt in her heart +of hearts the unnatural estrangement of her husband, and could not +understand it. If she asked him what it was that he was concealing from +her, he would either have to say nothing or to tell her the truth. But +that was impossible. + +So it came about that the long-cherished dream of leaving Yasnaya +Polyana presented itself as the only means of escape. It was certainly +not in order to enjoy the full realization of his dream that he left his +home; he went away only as a choice of evils. + +"I am too feeble and too old to begin a new life," he had said to my +brother Sergei only a few days before his departure. + +Harassed, ill in body and in mind, he started forth without any object +in view, without any thought-out plan, merely in order to hide himself +somewhere, wherever it might be, and get some rest from the moral +tortures which had become insupportable to him. + +"To fly, to fly!" he said in his deathbed delirium as he lay at +Astapova. + +"Has papa considered that mama may not survive the separation from him?" +I asked my sister Sasha on October 29, when she was on the point of +going to join him at Shamerdino. + +"Yes, he has considered all that, and still made up his mind to go, +because he thinks that nothing could be worse than the state that things +have come to here," she answered. + +I confess that my explanation of my father's flight by no means exhausts +the question. Life is complex and every explanation of a man's conduct +is bound to suffer from one-sidedness. Besides, there are circumstances +of which I do not care to speak at the present moment, in order not to +cause unnecessary pain to people still living. It may be that if those +who were about my father during the last years of his life had known +what they were doing, things would have turned out differently. + +The years will pass. The accumulated incrustations which hide the truth +will pass away. Much will be wiped out and forgotten. Among other things +my father's will will be forgotten--that will which he himself looked +upon as an "unnecessary outward means." And men will see more clearly +that legacy of love and truth in which he believed deeply, and which, +according to his own words, "cannot perish without a trace." + +In conclusion I cannot refrain from quoting the opinion of one of my +kinsmen, who, after my father's death, read the diaries kept both by my +father and my mother during the autumn before Lyoff Nikolaievich left +Yasnaya Polyana. + +"What a terrible misunderstanding!" he said. "Each loved the other with +such poignant affection, each was suffering all the time on the other's +behalf, and then this terrible ending!... I see the hand of fate in +this." + + + + +FOOTNOTES: + + +[Footnote 1: The name we gave to the stone annex.] + +[Footnote 2: The instinct for lime, necessary to feed their bones, +drives Russian children to nibble pieces of chalk or the whitewash off +the wall. In this case the boy was running to one of the grown-ups in +the house, and whom he called uncle, as Russian children call everybody +uncle or aunt, to get a piece of the chalk that he had for writing on +the blackboard. "Us," he said to some one when the boy was gone. Which +of us would have expressed himself like that? You see, he did not say +to "get" or to "break off," but to "bite off," which was right, because +they did literally "bite" off the chalk from the lump with their teeth, +and not break it off.] + +[Footnote 3: About $3000.] + +[Footnote 4: The zala is the chief room of a house, corresponding to +the English drawing-room, but on a grand scale. The gostinaya--literally +guest-room, usually translated as drawing-room--is a place for more +intimate receptions. At Yasnaya Polyana meals were taken in the zala, +but this is not the general Russian custom, houses being provided also +with a stolovaya, or dining-room.] + +[Footnote 5: Kaftan, a long coat of various cuts, including military +and naval frock-coat, and the long gown worn by coachmen.] + +[Footnote 6: Afanasyi Shenshin, the poet, who adopted his mother's +name, Fet, for a time, owing to official difficulties about his +birth-certificate. An intimate friend of Tolstoy's.] + +[Footnote 7: "Sovremennik," or "Contemporary Review," edited by the poet +Mekrasof, was the rallying-place for the "men of the forties," the new +school of realists. Ostrovsky is the dramatist; Gontcharof the novelist, +author of "Oblomof"; Grigorovitch wrote tales about peasant life, and +was the discoverer of Tchekhof's talent as a serious writer.] + +[Footnote 8: The balks are the banks dividing the fields of different +owners or crops. Hedges are not used for this purpose in Russia.] + +[Footnote 9: Pazanki, tracks of a hare, name given to the last joint of +the hind legs.] + +[Footnote 10: A Moscow monthly, founded by Katkof, who somehow managed +to edit both this and the daily "Moskovskiya Vyedomosti," on which +"Uncle Kostya" worked at the same time.] + +[Footnote 11: Dmitry. My father's brother Dmitry died in 1856; Nikolai +died September 20, 1860.] + +[Footnote 12: That is to say, his eyes went always on the straightest +road to attain satisfaction for himself.] + +[Footnote 13: Khamsvniki, a street in Moscow.] + +[Footnote 14: Maria Mikhailovna, his wife.] + +[Footnote 15: Tolstoy's sister. She became a nun after her husband's +death and the marriage of her three daughters.] + +[Footnote 16: Tolstoy was in the artillery, and commanded a battery in +the Crimea.] + +[Footnote 17: Fet, at whose house the quarrel took place, tells all +about it in his memoirs. Tolstoy dogmatized about lady-like charity, +apropos of Turgenieff's daughter. Turgenieff, in a fit of nerves, +threatened to box his ears. Tolstoy challenged him to a duel, and +Turgenieff apologized.] + +[Footnote 18: Turgenieff was ten years older than Tolstoy.] + +[Footnote 19: I had written to my father that my fiancee's mother would +not let me marry for two years.] + +[Footnote 20: My father took Griboyehof's PRINCESS MARYA ALEXEVNA as +a type. The allusion here is to the last words of Griboyehof's famous +comedy, "The Misfortune of Cleverness," "What will PRINCESS MARYA +ALEXEVNA say?"] + +[Footnote 21: Be loved by them.] + +[Footnote 22: His wife's.] + +[Footnote 23: A novelist, died 1895.] + +[Footnote 24: One of the authors of "Junker Schmidt."] + +[Footnote 25: The curious may be disposed to trace to some such +"corrections beforehand" the remarkable discrepancy of style and matter +which distinguishes some of Tolstoy's later works, published after his +death by Mr. Tchertkof and his literary executors.] + +[Footnote 26: Tolstoy's private secretary, arrested and banished in +1908.] + +[Footnote 27: Five weeks after Leskof's death.] + +[Footnote 28: The Countess Tolstoy.] + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Reminiscences of Tolstoy, by Ilya Tolstoy + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK REMINISCENCES OF TOLSTOY *** + +***** This file should be named 813.txt or 813.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/1/813/ + +Produced by Judith Boss + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. Binary files differdiff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b7c220e --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #813 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/813) diff --git a/old/rtlst09.txt b/old/rtlst09.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5aac16a --- /dev/null +++ b/old/rtlst09.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2950 @@ +*****The Project Gutenberg Etext of Reminiscences of Tolstoy**** + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. We need your donations. + + +Reminiscences of Tolstoy + +by Ilya Tolstoy [his son] + +February, 1997 [Etext #813] + + +*****The Project Gutenberg Etext of Reminiscences of Tolstoy**** +*****This file should be named rtlst10.txt or rtlst0.zip****** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, rtlst11.txt. +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, rtlst10a.txt. + + +This etext was created by Judith Boss, Omaha, Nebraska. + + +We are now trying to release all our books one month in advance +of the official release dates, for time for better editing. + +Please note: neither this list nor its contents are final till +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A +preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment +and editing by those who wish to do so. To be sure you have an +up to date first edition [xxxxx10x.xxx] please check file sizes +in the first week of the next month. Since our ftp program has +a bug in it that scrambles the date [tried to fix and failed] a +look at the file size will have to do, but we will try to see a +new copy has at least one byte more or less. + + +Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) + +We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The +fifty hours is one conservative estimate for how long it we take +to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright +searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. This +projected audience is one hundred million readers. If our value +per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 +million dollars per hour this year as we release thirty-two text +files per month: or 400 more Etexts in 1996 for a total of 800. +If these reach just 10% of the computerized population, then the +total should reach 80 billion Etexts. We will try add 800 more, +during 1997, but it will take all the effort we can manage to do +the doubling of our library again this year, what with the other +massive requirements it is going to take to get incorporated and +establish something that will have some permanence. + +The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext +Files by the December 31, 2001. [10,000 x 100,000,000=Trillion] +This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, +which is only 10% of the present number of computer users. 2001 +should have at least twice as many computer users as that, so it +will require us reaching less than 5% of the users in 2001. + + +We need your donations more than ever! + + +All donations should be made to "Project Gutenberg" + + +For these and other matters, please mail to: + +Project Gutenberg +P. O. Box 2782 +Champaign, IL 61825 + +When all other email fails try our Executive Director: +Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com> + +We would prefer to send you this information by email +(Internet, Bitnet, Compuserve, ATTMAIL or MCImail). + +****** +If you have an FTP program (or emulator), please +FTP directly to the Project Gutenberg archives: +[Mac users, do NOT point and click. . .type] + +ftp uiarchive.cso.uiuc.edu +login: anonymous +password: your@login +cd etext/etext90 through /etext97 +or cd etext/articles [get suggest gut for more information] +dir [to see files] +get or mget [to get files. . .set bin for zip files] +GET INDEX?00.GUT +for a list of books +and +GET NEW GUT for general information +and +MGET GUT* for newsletters. + +**Information prepared by the Project Gutenberg legal advisor** +(Three Pages) + + +***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START*** +Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. +They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with +your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from +someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our +fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement +disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how +you can distribute copies of this etext if you want to. + +*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT +By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept +this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive +a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by +sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person +you got it from. If you received this etext on a physical +medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. + +ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS +This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG- +tm etexts, is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor +Michael S. Hart through the Project Gutenberg (the "Project"). +Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States +copyright on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy +and distribute it in the United States without permission and +without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth +below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext +under the Project's "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. + +To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable +efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain +works. Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any +medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other +things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged +disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer +codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. + +LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES +But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, +[1] the Project (and any other party you may receive this +etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including +legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR +UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, +INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE +OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE +POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. + +If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of +receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) +you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that +time to the person you received it from. If you received it +on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and +such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement +copy. If you received it electronically, such person may +choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to +receive it electronically. + +THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS +TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A +PARTICULAR PURPOSE. + +Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or +the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the +above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you +may have other legal rights. + +INDEMNITY +You will indemnify and hold the Project, its directors, +officers, members and agents harmless from all liability, cost +and expense, including legal fees, that arise directly or +indirectly from any of the following that you do or cause: +[1] distribution of this etext, [2] alteration, modification, +or addition to the etext, or [3] any Defect. + +DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" +You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by +disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this +"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, +or: + +[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this + requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the + etext or this "small print!" statement. You may however, + if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable + binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, + including any form resulting from conversion by word pro- + cessing or hypertext software, but only so long as + *EITHER*: + + [*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and + does *not* contain characters other than those + intended by the author of the work, although tilde + (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may + be used to convey punctuation intended by the + author, and additional characters may be used to + indicate hypertext links; OR + + [*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at + no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent + form by the program that displays the etext (as is + the case, for instance, with most word processors); + OR + + [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at + no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the + etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC + or other equivalent proprietary form). + +[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this + "Small Print!" statement. + +[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the + net profits you derive calculated using the method you + already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Association within the 60 + days following each date you prepare (or were legally + required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent periodic) + tax return. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, +scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty +free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution +you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg +Association". + +*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + +This etext was created by Judith Boss, Omaha, Nebraska. + + + + + +Reminiscences of Tolstoy +by His Son, Count Ilya Tolstoy + + + + + + <b>REMINISCENCES OF TOLSTOY</b> + + BY HIS SON, COUNT ILYÁ TOLSTOY + + TRANSLATED BY GEORGE CALDERON + +IN one of his letters to his great-aunt, Alexándra +Andréyevna Tolstoy, my father gives the following +description of his children: + + The eldest [Sergéi] is fair-haired and good-looking; +there is something weak and patient in his expression, and very +gentle. His laugh is not infectious; but when he cries, I can +hardly refrain from crying, too. Every one says he is like my +eldest brother. + I am afraid to believe it. It is too good to be true. My +brother's chief characteristic was neither egotism nor self- +renunciation, but a strict mean between the two. He never +sacrificed himself for any one else; but not only always avoided +injuring others, but also interfering with them. He kept his +happiness and his sufferings entirely to himself. + Ilyá, the third, has never been ill in his life; +broad-boned, white and pink, radiant, bad at lessons. Is always +thinking about what he is told not to think about. Invents his +own games. Hot-tempered and violent, wants to fight at once; but +is also tender-hearted and very sensitive. Sensuous; fond of +eating and lying still doing nothing. + Tánya [Tatyána] is eight years old. Every one +says that she is like Sonya, and I believe them, although I am +pleased about that, too; I believe it only because it is obvious. +If she had been Adam's eldest daughter and he had had no other +children afterward, she would have passed a wretched childhood. +The greatest pleasure that she has is to look after children. + The fourth is Lyoff. Handsome, dexterous, good memory, +graceful. Any clothes fit him as if they had been made for him. +Everything that others do, he does very skilfully and well. Does +not understand much yet. + The fifth, Masha [Mary] is two years old, the one whose +birth nearly cost Sonya her life. A weak and sickly child. Body +white as milk, curly white hair; big, queer blue eyes, queer by +reason of their deep, serious expression. Very intelligent and +ugly. She will be one of the riddles; she will suffer, she will +seek and find nothing, will always be seeking what is least +attainable. + The sixth, Peter, is a giant, a huge, delightful baby in a +mob-cap, turns out his elbows, strives eagerly after something. +My wife falls into an ecstasy of agitation and emotion when she +holds him in her arms; but I am completely at a loss to +understand. I know that he has a great store of physical energy, +but whether there is any purpose for which the store is wanted I +do not know. That is why I do not care for children under two or +three; I don't understand. + + This letter was written in 1872, when I was six years old. +My recollections date from about that time. I can remember a few +things before. + + + FAMILY LIFE IN THE COUNTRY + +FROM my earliest childhood until the family moved into Moscow-- +that was in <p 188> 1881--all my life was spent, almost without a +break, at Yásnaya Polyána. + This is how we live. The chief personage in the house is my +mother. She settles everything. She interviews Nikolái, +the cook, and orders dinner; she sends us out for walks, makes +our shirts, is always nursing some baby at the breast; all day +long she is bustling about the house with hurried steps. One can +be naughty with her, though she is sometimes angry and punishes +us. + She knows more about everything than anybody else. She +knows that one must wash every day, that one must eat soup at +dinner, that one must talk French, learn not to crawl about on +all fours, not to put one's elbows on the table; and if she says +that one is not to go out walking because it is just going to +rain, she is sure to be right, and one must do as she says. + Papa is the cleverest man in the world. He always knows +everything. There is no being naughty with <i>him</i>. When he +is up in his study "working," one is not allowed to make a noise, +and nobody may go into his room. What he does when he is at +"work," none of us know. Later on, when I had learned to read, I +was told that papa was a "writer." + This was how I learned. I was very pleased with some lines +of poetry one day, and asked my mother who wrote them. She told +me they were written by Pushkin, and Pushkin was a great writer. +I was vexed at my father not being one, too. Then my mother said +that my father was also a well-known writer, and I was very glad +indeed. + At the dinner-table papa sits opposite mama and has his own +round silver spoon. When old Natália Petróvna, who +lives on the floor below with great-aunt Tatyána +Alexándrovna, pours herself out a glass of kvass, he picks +it up and drinks it right off, then says, "Oh, I'm so sorry, +Natália Petróvna; I made a mistake!" We all laugh +delightedly, and it seems odd that papa is not in the least +afraid of Natália Petróvna. When there is jelly +for pudding, papa says it is good for gluing paper boxes; we run +off to get some paper, and papa makes it into boxes. Mama is +angry, but he is not afraid of her either. We have the gayest +times imaginable with him now and then. He can ride a horse +better and run faster than anybody else, and there is no one in +the world so strong as he is. + He hardly ever punishes us, but when he looks me in the eyes +he knows everything that I think, and I am frightened. You can +tell stories to mama, but not to papa, because he will see +through you at once. So nobody ever tries. + Besides papa and mama, there was also Aunt Tatyána +Alexándrovna Yergolsky. In her room she had a big eikon +with a silver mount. We were very much afraid of this eikon, +because it was very old and black. + When I was six, I remember my father teaching the village +children. They had their lessons in "the other house,"¹ +where Alexey Stepánytch, the bailiff, lived, and sometimes +on the ground floor of the house we lived in. + There were a great number of village children who used to +come. When they came, the front hall smelled of sheepskin +jackets; they were taught by papa and Seryózha and +Tánya and Uncle Kóstya all at once. Lesson-time +was very gay and lively. + The children did exactly as they pleased, sat where they +liked, ran about from place to place, and answered questions not +one by one, but all together, interrupting one another, and +helping one another to recall what they had read. If one left +out a bit, up jumped another and then another, and the story or +sum was reconstructed by the united efforts of the whole class. + What pleased my father most about his pupils was the +picturesqueness and originality of their language. He never +wanted a literal repetition of bookish expressions, and +particularly encouraged every one to speak "out of his own head." +I remember how once he stopped a boy who was running into the +next room. + "Where are <i>you</i> off to?" he asked. + "To uncle, to bite off a piece of chalk."² + "Cut along, cut along! It's not for us to teach them, but +for them to teach + + ¹ The name we gave to the stone annex. + ² The instinct for lime, necessary to feed their bones, +drives Russian children to nibble pieces of chalk or the +whitewash off the wall. In this case the boy was running to one +of the grown-ups in the house, and whom he called uncle, as +Russian children call everybody uncle or aunt, to get a piece of +the chalk that he had for writing on the blackboard. +<p 189> +us," he said to some one when the boy was gone. Which of us +would have expressed himself like that? You see, he did not say +to "get" or to "break off," but to "bite off," which was right, +because they did literally "bite" off the chalk from the lump +with their teeth, and not break it off. + + + THE SERVANTS IN THE HOUSE + +WHEN my father married and brought home his young and +inexperienced bride, Sófya Andréyevna, to +Yásnaya Polyána, Nikolái +Mikháilovitch Rumyántsef was already established as +cook. Before my father's marriage he had a salary of five rubles +a month; but when my mother arrived, she raised him to six, at +which rate he continued the rest of his days; that is, till +somewhere about the end of the eighties. He was succeeded in the +kitchen by his son, Semyon Nikoláyevitch, my mother's +godson, and this worthy and beloved man, companion of my childish +games, still lives with us to this day. Under my mother's +supervision he prepared my father's vegetarian diet with +affectionate zeal, and without him my father would very likely +never have lived to the ripe old age he did. + Agáfya Mikháilovna was an old woman who lived +at first in the kitchen of "the other house" and afterward on the +home farm. Tall and thin, with big, thoroughbred eyes, and long, +straight hair, like a witch, turning gray, she was rather +terrifying, but more than anything else she was queer. + Once upon a time long ago she had been housemaid to my +great-grandmother, Countess Pelagéya Nikoláyevna +Tolstoy, my father's grandmother, née Princess +Gortchakóva. She was fond of telling about her young +days. She would say: + + I was very handsome. When there were gentlefolks visiting +at the big house, the countess would call me, 'Gachette +[Agáfya], femme de chambre, apportez-moi un mouchoir!' +Then I would say, <i>'Toute suite, Madame la Comtesse!'</i> And +every one would be staring at me, and couldn't take their eyes +off. When I crossed over to the annex, there they were watching +to catch me on the way. Many a time have I tricked them--ran +round the other way and jumped over the ditch. I never liked +that sort of thing any time. A maid I was, a maid I am. + + After my grandmother's death, Agáfya +Mikháilovna was sent on to the home farm for some reason +or other, and minded the sheep. She got so fond of sheep that +all her days after she never would touch mutton. + After the sheep, she had an affection for dogs, and that is +the only period of her life that I remember her in. + There was nothing in the world she cared about but dogs. +She lived with them in horrible dirt and smells, and gave up her +whole mind and soul to them. We always had setters, harriers, +and <i>borzois,</i> and the whole kennel, often very numerous, +was under Agáfya Mikháilovna's management, with +some boy or other to help her, usually one as clumsy and stupid +as could be found. + There are many interesting recollections bound up with the +memory of this intelligent and original woman. Most of them are +associated in my mind with my father's stories about her. He +could always catch and unravel any interesting psychological +trait, and these traits, which he would mention incidentally, +stuck firmly in my mind. He used to tell, for instance, how +Agáfya Mikháilovna complained to him of +sleeplessness. + "Ever since I can remember her, she has suffered from 'a +birch-tree growing inside me from my belly up; it presses against +my chest, and prevents my breathing.' + "She complains of her sleeplessness and the birch-tree and +says: 'There I lay all alone and all quiet, only the clock +ticking on the wall: "Who are you? What are you? Who are you? +What are you?" And I began to think: "Who am I? What am I?" and +so I spent the whole night thinking about it.' + "Why, imagine this is Socrates! 'Know thyself,'" said my +father, telling the story with great enthusiasm. + In the summer-time my mother's brother, Styópa +(Stephen Behrs), who was studying at the time in the school of +jurisprudence, used to come and stay with us. In the autumn he +used to go wolf-hunting with my father and us, with the +<i>borzois,</i> and Agáfya Mikháilovna loved him +for that. <p 190> + Styópa's examination was in the spring. +Agáfya Mikháilovna knew about it and anxiously +waited for the news of whether he had got through. + Once she put up a candle before the eikon and prayed that +Styópa might pass. But at that moment she remembered that +her <i>borzois</i> had got out and had not come back to the +kennels again. + "Saints in heaven! they'll get into some place and worry the +cattle and do a mischief!" she cried. "'Lord, let my candle burn +for the dogs to come back quick, and I'll buy another for Stepan +Andréyevitch.' No sooner had I said this to myself than I +heard the dogs in the porch rattling their collars. Thank God! +they were back. That's what prayer can do." + Another favorite of Agáfya Mikháilovna was a +young man, Mísha Stakhóvitch, who often stayed with +us. + "See what you have been and done to me, little Countess!" +she said reproachfully to my sister Tánya: "you've +introduced me to Mikhail Alexandrovitch, and I've fallen in love +with him in my old age, like a wicked woman!" + On the fifth of February, her name-day, Agáfya +Mikháilovna received a telegram of congratulation from +Stakhóvitch. + When my father heard of it, he said jokingly to +Agáfya Mikháilovna: + "Aren't you ashamed that a man had to trudge two miles +through the frost at night all for the sake of your telegram?" + "Trudge, trudge? Angels bore him on their wings. Trudge, +indeed! You get three telegrams from an outlandish Jew woman," +she growled, "and telegrams every day about your Golokhvotika. +Never a trudge then; but I get name-day greetings, and it's +trudge!" + And one could not but acknowledge that she was right. This +telegram, the only one in the whole year that was addressed to +the kennels, by the pleasure it gave Agáfya +Mikháilovna was far more important of course than this +news or the about a ball given in Moscow in honor of a Jewish +banker's daughter, or about Olga Andréyevna +Golokvástovy's arrival at Yásnaya. + Agáfya Mikháilovna died at the beginning of +the nineties. There were no more hounds or sporting dogs at +Yásnaya then, but till the end of her days she gave +shelter to a motley collection of mongrels, and tended and fed +them. + + + THE HOME OF THE TOLSTOYS + +I CAN remember the house at Yásnaya Polyána in the +condition it was in the first years after my father's marriage. + It was one of the two-storied wings of the old mansion-house +of the Princes Volkónsky, which my father had sold for +pulling down when he was still a bachelor. + From what my father has told me, I know that the house in +which he was born and spent his youth was a three-storied +building with thirty-six rooms. On the spot where it stood, +between the two wings, the remains of the old stone foundation +are still visible in the form of trenches filled with rubble, and +the site is covered with big sixty-year-old trees that my father +himself planted. + When any one asked my father where he was born, he used to +point to a tall larch which grew on the site of the old +foundations. + "Up there where the top of that larch waves," he used to +say; "that's where my mother's room was, where I was born on a +leather sofa." + My father seldom spoke of his mother, but when he did, it +was delightful to hear him, because the mention of her awoke an +unusual strain of gentleness and tenderness in him. There was +such a ring of respectful affection, so much reverence for her +memory, in his words, that we all looked on her as a sort of +saint. + My father remembered his father well, because he was already +nine years old when he died. He loved him, too, and always spoke +of him reverently; but one always felt that his mother's memory, +although he had never known her, was dearer to him, and his love +for her far greater than for his father. + Even to this day I do not exactly know the story of the sale +of the old house. My father never liked talking about it, and +for that reason I could never make up my mind to ask him the +details of the transaction. I only know that the house was sold +for five thousand paper rubles¹ by one of his relatives, who +had charge of his affairs by power of attorney when he was in the +Caucasus. + + ¹About $3000. +<p 191> +It was said to have been done in order to pay off my father's +gambling debts. That was quite true. + My father himself told me that at one time he was a great +card-player, that he lost large sums of money, and that his +financial affairs were considerably embarrassed. + The only thing about which I am in doubt is whether it was +with my father's knowledge or by his directions that the house +was sold, or whether the relative in question did not exceed his +instructions and decide on the sale of his own initiative. + My father cherished his parents' memory to such an extent, +and had such a warm affection for everything relating to his own +childhood, that it is hard to believe that he would have raised +his hand against the house in which he had been born and brought +up and in which his mother had spent her whole life. + Knowing my father as I do, I think it is highly possible +that he wrote to his relative from the Caucasus, "Sell +something," not in the least expecting that he would sell the +house, and that he afterward took the blame for it on himself. +Is that not the reason why he was always so unwilling to talk +about it? + In 1871, when I was five years old, the <i>zala</i>¹ +and study were built on the house. + The walls of the <i>zala</i> were hung with old portraits of +ancestors. They were rather alarming, and I was afraid of them +at first; but we got used to them after a time, and I grew fond +of one of them, of my great-grandfather, Ilyá +Andréyevitch Tolstoy, because I was told that I was like +him. + Beside him hung the portrait of another great-grandfather, +Prince Nikolái Sergéyevitch Volkónsky, my +grandmother's father, with thick, black eyebrows, a gray wig, and +a red <i>kaftan</i>.² + This Volkónsky built all the buildings of +Yásnaya Polyána. He was a model squire, +intelligent and proud, and enjoyed the great respect of all the +neighborhood. + On the ground floor, under the drawing-room, next to the +entrance-hall, my father built his study. He had a semi-circular +niche made in the wall, and stood a marble bust of his favorite +dead brother Nikolái in it. This bust was made abroad +from a death-mask, and my father told us that it was very like, +because it was done by a good sculptor, according to his own +directions. + He had a kind and rather plaintive face. The hair was +brushed smooth like a child's, with the parting on one side. He +had no beard or mustache, and his head was white and very, very +clean. My father's study was divided in two by a partition of +big bookshelves, containing a multitude of all sorts of books. +In order to support them, the shelves were connected by big +wooden beams, and between them was a thin birch-wood door, behind +which stood my father's writing-table and his old-fashioned +semicircular arm-chair. + There are portraits of Dickens and Schopenhauer and +Fet³ as a young man on the walls, too, and the well-known +group of writers of the Sovreménnik&sup4; circle in 1856, +with Turgénieff, Ostróvsky, Gontcharóf, +Grigoróvitch, Druzhínin, and my father, quite young +still, without a beard, and in uniform. + My father used to come out of his bedroom of a morning--it +was in a corner on the top floor--in his dressing-gown, with his +beard uncombed and tumbled together, and go down to dress. + Soon after he would issue from his study fresh and vigorous, +in a gray smock-frock, and would go up into the <i>zala</i> for +breakfast. That was our <i>déjeuner</i>. + When there was nobody staying in the house, he would not +stop long in the drawing-room, but would take his tumbler of tea +and carry it off to his study with him. + But if there were friends and guests + + ¹The <i>zala</i> is the chief room of a house, +corresponding to the English drawing-room, but on a grand scale. +The <i>gostinaya</i>--literally guest-room, usually translated as +drawing-room--is a place for more intimate receptions. At +Yásnaya Polyána meals were taken in the +<i>zala</i>, but this is not the general Russian custom, houses +being provided also with a <i>stolóvaya</i>, or dining- +room. + ²<i>Kaftan</i>, a long coat of various cuts, including +military and naval frock-coat, and the long gown worn by +coachmen. + ³Afanásyi Shénshin, the poet, who adopted +his mother's name, Fet, for a time, owing to official +difficulties about his birth-certificate. An intimate friend of +Tolstoy's. + &sup4;The "Sovreménnik," or "Contemporary Review," +edited by the poet Mekrasof, was the rallying-place for the "men +of the forties," the new school of realists. Ostróvsky is +the dramatist; Gontcharóf the novelist, author of +"Oblómof"; Grigoróvitch wrote tales about peasant +life, and was the discoverer of Tchékhof's talent as a +serious writer. +<p 192> +with us, he would get into conversation, become interested, and +could not tear himself away. + At last he would go off to his work, and we would disperse, +in winter to the different school-rooms, in summer to the +croquet-lawn or somewhere about the garden. My mother would +settle down in the drawing-room to make some garment for the +babies, or to copy out something she had not finished overnight; +and till three or four in the afternoon silence would reign in +the house. + Then my father would come out of his study and go off for +his afternoon's exercise. Sometimes he would take a dog and a +gun, sometimes ride, and sometimes merely go for a walk to the +imperial wood. + At five the big bell that hung on the broken bough of an old +elm-tree in front of the house would ring and we would all run to +wash our hands and collect for dinner. + He was very hungry, and ate voraciously of whatever turned +up. My mother would try to stop him, would tell him not to waste +all his appetite on <i>kasha,</i> because there were chops and +vegetables to follow. "You'll have a bad liver again," she would +say; but he would pay no attention to her, and would ask for more +and more, until his hunger was completely satisfied. Then he +would tell us all about his walk, where he put up a covey of +black game, what new paths he discovered in the imperial wood +beyond Kudeyarof Well, or, if he rode, how the young horse he was +breaking in began to understand the reins and the pressure of the +leg. All this he would relate in the most vivid and entertaining +way, so that the time passed gaily and animatedly. + After dinner he would go back to his room to read, and at +eight we had tea, and the best hours of the day began--the +evening hours, when everybody gathered in the <i>zala</i>. The +grown-ups talked or read aloud or played the piano, and we either +listened to them or had some jolly game of our own, and in +anxious fear awaited the moment when the English +grandfather-clock on the landing would give a click and a buzz, +and slowly and clearly ring out ten. + Perhaps mama would not notice? She was in the sitting-room, +making a copy. + "Come, children, bedtime! Say good night," she would call. + "In a minute, Mama; just five minutes." + "Run along; it's high time; or there will be no getting you +up in the morning to do your lessons." + We would say a lingering good night, on the lookout for any +chance for delay, and at last would go down-stairs through the +arches, annoyed at the thought that we were children still and +had to go to bed while the grown-ups could stay up as long as +ever they liked. + + + A JOURNEY TO THE STEPPES + +WHEN I was still a child and had not yet read "War and Peace," I +was told that <i>Natásha Rostóf</i> was Aunt +Tánya. When my father was asked whether that was true, +and whether <i>Dmitry Rostóf</i> was such and such a +person and <i>Levin</i> such and such another, he never gave a +definite answer, and one could not but feel that he disliked such +questions and was rather offended by them. + In those remote days about which I am talking, my father was +very keen about the management of his estate, and devoted a lot +of energy to it. I can remember his planting the huge apple +orchard at Yásnaya and several hundred acres of birch and +pine forest, and at the beginning of the seventies, for a number +of years, he was interested in buying up land cheap in the +province of Samara, and breeding droves of steppe horses and +flocks of sheep. + I still have pretty clear, though rather fragmentary and +inconsequent, recollections of our three summer excursions to the +steppes of Samara. + My father had already been there before his marriage in +1862, and afterward by the advice of Dr. Zakháryin, who +attended him. He took the kumiss-cure in 1871 and 1872, and at +last, in 1873, the whole family went there. + At that time my father had bought several hundred acres of +cheap Bashkir lands in the district of Buzulúk, and we +went to stay on our new property at a <i>khutor,</i> or farm. + In Samara we lived on the farm in a tumble-down wooden +house, and beside us, in the steppe, were erected two felt +<i>kibitkas,</i> or Tatar frame tents, in which [illustration +omitted] [page intentionally blank] <p 193> our Bashkir, Muhammed +Shah Romanytch, lived with his wives. + Morning and evening they used to tie the mares up outside +the <i>kibitkas,</i> where they were milked by veiled women, who +then hid themselves from the sight of the men behind a brilliant +chintz curtain, and made the kumiss. + The kumiss was bitter and very nasty, but my father and my +uncle Stephen Behrs were very fond of it, and drank it in large +quantities. + When we boys began to get big, we had at first a German +tutor for two or three years, Fyódor Fyódorovitch +Kaufmann. + I cannot say that we were particularly fond of him. He was +rather rough, and even we children were struck by his German +stupidity. His redeeming feature was that he was a devoted +sportsman. Every morning he used to jerk the blankets off us and +shout, "Auf, Kinder! auf!" and during the daytime plagued us with +German calligraphy. + + + OUTDOOR SPORTS + +THE chief passion of my childhood was riding. I well remember +the time when my father used to put me in the saddle in front of +him and we would ride out to bathe in the Voronka. I have +several interesting recollections connected with these rides. + One day as we were going to bathe, papa turned round and +said to me: + "Do you know, Ilyúsha, I am very pleased with myself +to-day. I have been bothered with her for three whole days, and +could not manage to make her go into the house; try as I would, +it was impossible. It never would come right. But to-day I +remembered that there is a mirror in every hall, and that every +lady wears a bonnet. + "As soon as I remembered that, she went where I wanted her +to, and did everything she had to. You would think a bonnet is a +small affair, but everything depended on that bonnet." + As I recall this conversation, I feel sure that my father +was talking about that scene in "Anna Karénina" where +<i>Anna</i> went to see her son. + Although in the final form of the novel nothing is said in +this scene either about a bonnet or a mirror,--nothing is +mentioned but a thick black veil,--still, I imagine that in its +original form, when he was working on the passage, my father may +have brought Anna up to the mirror, and made her straighten her +bonnet or take it off. + I can remember the interest with which he told me this, and +it now seems strange that he should have talked about such subtle +artistic experiences to a boy of seven who was hardly capable of +understanding him at the time. However, that was often the case +with him. + I once heard from him a very interesting description of what +a writer needs for his work: + "You cannot imagine how important one's mood is," he said. +"Sometimes you get up in the morning, fresh and vigorous, with +your head clear, and you begin to write. Everything is sensible +and consistent. You read it over next day, and have to throw the +whole thing away, because, good as it is, it misses the main +thing. There is no imagination in it, no subtlety, none of the +necessary something, none of that only just without which all +your cleverness is worth nothing. Another day you get up after a +bad night, with your nerves all on edge, and you think, 'To-day I +shall write well, at any rate.' And as a matter of fact, what +you write is beautiful, picturesque, with any amount of +imagination. You look it through again; it is no good, because it +is written stupidly. There is plenty of color, but not enough +intelligence. + "One's writing is good only when the intelligence and the +imagination are in equilibrium. As soon as one of them +overbalances the other, it's all up; you may as well throw it +away and begin afresh." + As a matter of fact, there was no end to the rewriting in my +father's works. His industry in this particular was truly +marvelous. + We were always devoted to sport from our earliest childhood. +I can remember as well as I remember myself my father's favorite +dog in those days, an Irish setter called Dora. They would bring +round the cart, with a very quiet horse between the shafts, and +we would drive out to the marsh, to Degatná or to +Malákhov. My father and sometimes my mother or a coachman +sat on the seat, while I and Dora lay on the floor. <p 194> + When we got to the marsh, my father used to get out, stand +his gun on the ground, and, holding it with his left hand, load +it. + Dora meanwhile fidgeted about, whining impatiently and +wagging her thick tail. + While my father splashed through the marsh, we drove round +the bank somewhat behind him, and eagerly followed the ranging of +the dog, the getting up of the snipe, and the shooting. My +father sometimes shot fairly well, though he often lost his head, +and missed frantically. + But our favorite sport was coursing with greyhounds. What a +pleasure it was when the footman Sergei Petrovitch came in and +woke us up before dawn, with a candle in his hand! + We jumped up full of energy and happiness, trembling all +over in the morning cold; threw on our clothes as quickly as we +could, and ran out into the <i>zala,</i> where the samovar was +boiling and papa was waiting for us. + Sometimes mama came in in her dressing-gown, and made us put +on all sorts of extra woolen stockings, and sweaters and gloves. + "What are you going to wear, Lyovótchka?" she would +say to papa. "It's very cold to-day, and there is a wind. Only +the Kuzminsky overcoat again today? You must put on something +underneath, if only for my sake." + Papa would make a face, but give in at last, and buckle on +his short gray overcoat under the other and sally forth. It +would then be growing light. Our horses were brought round, we +got on, and rode first to "the other house," or to the kennels to +get the dogs. + Agáfya Mikháilovna would be anxiously waiting +us on the steps. Despite the coldness of the morning, she would +be bareheaded and lightly clad, with her black jacket open, +showing her withered, old bosom. She carried the dog-collars in +her lean, knotted hands. + "Have you gone and fed them again?" asks my father, +severely, looking at the dogs' bulging stomachs. + "Fed them? Not a bit; only just a crust of bread apiece." + "Then what are they licking their chops for?" + "There was a bit of yesterday's oatmeal left over." + "I thought as much! All the hares will get away again. It +really is too bad! Do you do it to spite me?" + "You can't have the dogs running all day on empty stomachs, +Lyoff Nikolaievich," she grunted, going angrily to put on the +dogs' collars. + At last the dogs were got together, some of them on leashes, +others running free; and we would ride out at a brisk trot past +Bitter Wells and the grove into the open country. + My father would give the word of command, "Line out!" and +point out the direction in which we were to go, and we spread out +over the stubble fields and meadows, whistling and winding about +along the lee side of the steep balks,¹ beating all the +bushes with our hunting-crops, and gazing keenly at every spot or +mark on the earth. + Something white would appear ahead. We stared hard at it, +gathered up the reins, examined the leash, scarcely believing the +good luck of having come on a hare at last. Then riding up +closer and closer, with our eyes on the white thing, it would +turn out to be not a hare at all, but a horse's skull. How +annoying! + We would look at papa and Seryózha, thinking, "I +wonder if they saw that I took that skull for a hare." But papa +would be sitting keen and alert on his English saddle, with the +wooden stirrups, smoking a cigarette, while Seryózha would +perhaps have got his leash entangled and could not get it +straight. + "Thank heaven!" we would exclaim, "nobody saw me! What a +fool I should have felt!" So we would ride on. + The horse's even pace would begin to rock us to sleep, +feeling rather bored at nothing getting up; when all of a sudden, +just at the moment we least expected it, right in front of us, +twenty paces away, would jump up a gray hare as if from the +bowels of the earth. + The dogs had seen it before we had, and had started forward +already in full pursuit. We began to bawl, "Tally-ho! tally-ho!" +like madmen, flogging our horses with all our might, and flying +after them. + + ¹The balks are the banks dividing the fields of +different owners or crops. Hedges are not used for this purpose +in Russia. +<p 195> + The dogs would come up with the hare, turn it, then turn it +again, the young and fiery Sultan and Darling running over it, +catching up again, and running over again; and at last the old +and experienced Winger, who had been galloping on one side all +the time, would seize her opportunity, and spring in. The hare +would give a helpless cry like a baby, and the dogs, burying +their fangs in it, in a star-shaped group, would begin to tug in +different directions. + "Let go! Let go!" + We would come galloping up, finish off the hare, and give +the dogs the tracks,¹ tearing them off toe by toe, and +throwing them to our favorites, who would catch them in the air. +Then papa would teach us how to strap the hare on the back of the +saddle. + After the run we would all be in better spirits, and get to +better places near Yásenki and Rétinka. Gray hares +would get up oftener. Each of us would have his spoils in the +saddle-straps now, and we would begin to hope for a fox. + Not many foxes would turn up. If they did, it was generally +Tumashka, who was old and staid, who distinguished himself. He +was sick of hares, and made no great effort to run after them; +but with a fox he would gallop at full speed, and it was almost +always he who killed. + It would be late, often dark, when we got back home. + + + "ANNA KARÉNINA" + +I REMEMBER my father writing his alphabet and reading-book in +1871 and 1872, but I cannot at all remember his beginning "Anna +Karénina." I probably knew nothing about it at the time. +What did it matter to a boy of seven what his father was writing? +It was only later, when one kept hearing the name again and +again, and bundles of proofs kept arriving, and were sent off +almost every day, that I understood that "Anna Karénina" +was the name of the novel on which my father and mother were both +at work. + My mother's work seemed much harder than my father's, +because we actually saw her at it, and she worked much longer +hours than he did. She used to sit in the sitting-room off the +<i>zala,</i> at her little writing-table, and spend all her free +time writing. + Leaning over the manuscript and trying to decipher my +father's scrawl with her short-sighted eyes, she used to spend +whole evenings over it, and often sat up late at night after +everybody else had gone to bed. Sometimes, when anything was +written quite illegibly, she would go to my father's study and +ask him what it meant. But this was very rare, because my mother +did not like to disturb him. + When it happened, my father used to take the manuscript in +his hand, and ask with some annoyance, "What on earth is the +difficulty?" and would begin to read it out aloud. When he came +to the difficult place he would mumble and hesitate, and +sometimes had the greatest difficulty in making out, or, rather, +in guessing, what he had written. He had a very bad handwriting, +and a terrible habit of writing in whole sentences between the +lines, or in the corners of the page, or sometimes right across +it. + My mother often discovered gross grammatical errors, and +pointed them out to my father, and corrected them. + When "Anna Karénina" began to come out in the "Russky +Vyéstnik,"² long galley-proofs were posted to my +father, and he looked them through and corrected them. + At first the margins would be marked with the ordinary +typographical signs, letters omitted, marks of punctuation, etc.; +then individual words would be changed, and then whole sentences, +till in the end the proof-sheet would be reduced to a mass of +patches quite black in places, and it was quite impossible to +send it back as it stood, because no one but my mother could make +head or tail of the tangle of conventional signs, transpositions, +and erasures. + My mother would sit up all night copying the whole thing out +afresh. + In the morning there would lie the pages on her table, +neatly piled together, covered all over with her fine, clear +handwriting, and everything ready so that when +"Lyovótchka" got up he could send the proof-sheets off by +post. + + ¹<i>Pazanki</i>, tracks of a hare, name given to the +last joint of the hind legs. + ²A Moscow monthly, founded by Katkóf, who +somehow managed to edit both this and the daily +"Moskóvskiya Vyédomosti," on which "Uncle +Kóstya" worked at the same time. +<p 196> + My father carried them off to his study to have "just one +last look," and by the evening it would be just as bad again, the +whole thing having been rewritten and messed up. + "Sonya my dear, I am very sorry, but I've spoiled all your +work again; I promise I won't do it any more," he would say, +showing her the passages he had inked over with a guilty air. +"We'll send them off to-morrow without fail." But this to-morrow +was often put off day by day for weeks or months together. + "There's just one bit I want to look through again," my +father would say; but he would get carried away and recast the +whole thing afresh. + There were even occasions when, after posting the proofs, he +would remember some particular words next day, and correct them +by telegraph. Several times, in consequence of these rewritings, +the printing of the novel in the "Russky Vyéstnik" was +interrupted, and sometimes it did not come out for months +together. + In the last part of "Anna Karénina" my father, in +describing the end of <i>Vronsky's</i> career, showed his +disapproval of the volunteer movement and the Panslavonic +committees, and this led to a quarrel with Katkóf. + I can remember how angry my father was when Katkóf +refused to print those chapters as they stood, and asked him +either to leave out part of them or to soften them down, and +finally returned the manuscript, and printed a short note in his +paper to say that after the death of the heroine the novel was +strictly speaking at an end; but that the author had added an +epilogue of two printed sheets, in which he related such and such +facts, and he would very likely "develop these chapters for the +separate edition of his novel." + In concluding, I wish to say a few words about my father's +own opinion of "Anna Karénina." + In 1875 he wrote to N. N. Strákhof: + "I must confess that I was delighted by the success of the +last piece of 'Anna Karénina.' I had by no means expected +it, and to tell you the truth, I am surprised that people are so +pleased with such ordinary and <i>empty</i> stuff." + The same year he wrote to Fet: + "It is two months since I have defiled my hands with ink or +my heart with thoughts. But now I am setting to work again on my +<i>tedious, vulgar 'Anna Karénina,'</i> with only one +wish, to clear it out of the way as soon as possible and give +myself leisure for other occupations, but not schoolmastering, +which I am fond of, but wish to give up; it takes up too much +time." + In 1878, when the novel was nearing its end, he wrote again +to Strákhof: + "I am frightened by the feeling that I am getting into my +summer mood again. I <i>loathe</i> what I have written. The +proof-sheets for the April number [of "Anna Karénina" in +the "Russky Vyéstnik"] now lie on my table, and I am +afraid that I have not the heart to correct them. +<i>Everything</i> in them is <i>beastly,</i> and the whole thing +ought to be rewritten,--all that has been printed, too,--scrapped +and melted down, thrown away, renounced. I ought to say, 'I am +sorry; I will not do it any more,' and try to write something +fresh instead of all this incoherent, neither-fish-nor-flesh- +nor-fowlish stuff." + That was how my father felt toward his novel while he was +writing it. Afterward I often heard him say much harsher things +about it. + "What difficulty is there in writing about how an officer +fell in love with a married woman?" he used to say. "There's no +difficulty in it, and above all no good in it." + I am quite convinced that if my father could have done so, +he long ago would have destroyed this novel, which he never liked +and always wanted to disown. + + (To be continued) + + + + +<p 418> + <b>REMINISCENCES OF TOLSTOY</b> + + BY HIS SON, COUNT ILYÁ TOLSTOY + + TRANSLATED BY GEORGE CALDERON + +IN the summer, when both families were together at Yásnaya, +our own and the Kuzmínsky's, when both the house and the +annex were full of the family and their guests, we used our +letter-box. + It originated long before, when I was still small and had only +just learned to write, and it continued with intervals till the +middle of the eighties. + It hung on the landing at the top of the stairs beside the +grandfather's clock; and every one dropped his compositions into +it, the verses, articles, or stories that he had written on topical +subjects in the course of the week. + On Sundays we would all collect at the round table in the +<i>zala,</i> the box would be solemnly opened, and one of the +grown-ups, often my father himself, would read the contents aloud. + All the papers were unsigned, and it was a point of honor not +to peep at the handwriting; but, despite this, we almost always +guessed the author, either by the style, by his self-consciousness, +or else by the strained indifference of his expression. + When I was a boy, and for the first time wrote a set of French +verses for the letter-box, I was so shy when they were read that I +hid under the table, and sat there the whole evening until I was +pulled out by force. + For a long time after, I wrote no more, and was always fonder +of hearing other people's compositions read than my own. + All the events of our life at Yásnaya Polyána +found their echo in one way or another in the letter-box, and no +one was spared, not even the grown-ups. + All our secrets, all our love-affairs, all the incidents of +our complicated life were revealed in the letter-box, and both +household and visitors were good-humoredly made fun of. + Unfortunately, much of the correspondence has been lost, but +bits of it have been preserved by some of us in copies or in +memory. I cannot recall everything interesting that there was in +it, but here are a few of the more interesting things from the +period of the eighties. + + + THE LETTER-BOX + +THE old fogy continues his questions. Why, when women or old men +enter the room, does every well-bred person not only offer them a +seat, but give them up his own? + Why do they make Ushakóf or some Servian officer who +comes to pay a visit necessarily stay to tea or dinner? + Why is it considered wrong to let an older person or a woman +help you on with your overcoat? + And why are all these charming rules considered obligatory +toward others, when every day ordinary people come, and we not only +do not ask them to sit down or to stop to dinner or spend the night +or render them any service, but would look on it as the height of +impropriety? + Where do those people end to whom we are under these +obligations? By what characteristics are the one sort +distinguished from the others? And are not all these rules of +politeness bad, if they do not extend to all sorts of people? And +is not what we call politeness an illusion, and a very ugly +illusion? + LYOFF TOLSTOY. + + Question: Which is the most "beastly plague," a cattle-plague +case for a farmer, or the ablative case for a school-boy? + LYOFF TOLSTOY. + + Answers are requested to the following questions: + Why do Ustyúsha, Masha, Alyóna, Peter, etc., +have to bake, boil, sweep, empty slops, wait at table, while the +gentry have only to eat, gobble, quarrel, make slops, and eat +again? + LYOFF TOLSTOY. +<p 419> + My Aunt Tánya, when she was in a bad temper because the +coffee-pot had been spilt or because she had been beaten at +croquet, was in the habit of sending every one to the devil. My +father wrote the following story, "Susóitchik," about it. + + The devil, not the chief devil, but one of the rank and file, +the one charged with the management of social affairs, +Susóitchik by name, was greatly perturbed on the 6th of +August, 1884. From the early morning onward, people kept arriving +who had been sent him by Tatyána Kuzmínsky. + The first to arrive was Alexander Mikháilovitch +Kuzmínsky; the second was Mísha Islávin; the +third was Vyatcheslaf; the fourth was Seryózha Tolstoy, and +last of all came old Lyoff Tolstoy, senior, accompanied by Prince +Urúsof. The first visitor, Alexander Mikháilovitch, +caused Susóitchik no surprise, as he often paid +Susóitchik visits in obedience to the behests of his wife. + "What, has your wife sent you again?" + "Yes," replied the presiding judge of the district-court, +shyly, not knowing what explanation he could give of the cause of +his visit. + "You come here very often. What do you want?" + "Oh, nothing in particular; she just sent her compliments," +murmured Alexander Mikháilovitch, departing from the exact +truth with some effort. + "Very good, very good; come whenever you like; she is one of +my best workers." + Before Susóitchik had time to show the judge out, in +came all the children, laughing and jostling, and hiding one behind +the other. + "What brought you here, youngsters? Did my little +Tanyítchka send you? That's right; no harm in coming. Give +my compliments to Tánya, and tell her that I am always at +her service. Come whenever you like. Old Susóitchik may be +of use to you." + No sooner had the young folk made their bow than old Lyoff +Tolstoy appeared with Prince Urúsof. + "Aha! so it's the old boy! Many thanks to Tanyítchka. +It's a long time since I have seen you, old chap. Well and hearty? +And what can I do for you?" + Lyoff Tolstoy shuffled about, rather abashed. + Prince Urúsof, mindful of the etiquette of diplomatic +receptions, stepped forward and explained Tolstoy's appearance by +his wish to make acquaintance with Tatyána +Andréyevna's oldest and most faithful friend. + "Les amis des nos amis sont nos amis." + "Ha! ha! ha! quite so!" said Susóitchik. "I must +reward her for to-day's work. Be so kind, Prince, as to hand her +the marks of my good-will." + And he handed over the insignia of an order in a morocco case. +The insignia consisted of a necklace of imp's tails to be worn +about the throat, and two toads, one to be worn on the bosom and +the other on the bustle. + LYOFF TOLSTOY, SENIOR. + + + SERGÉI NIKOLÁYEVITCH TOLSTOY + +I CAN remember my Uncle Seryózha (Sergéi) from my +earliest childhood. He lived at Pirogóvo, twenty miles from +Yásnaya, and visited us often. + As a young man he was very handsome. He had the same features +as my father, but he was slenderer and more aristocratic-looking. +He had the same oval face, the same nose, the same intelligent gray +eyes, and the same thick, overhanging eyebrows. The only +difference between his face and my father's was defined by the fact +that in those distant days, when my father cared for his personal +appearance, he was always worrying about his ugliness, while Uncle +Seryózha was considered, and really was, a very handsome +man. + This is what my father says about Uncle Seryózha in his +fragmentary reminiscences: + "I and Nítenka¹ were chums, Nikólenka I +revered, but Seryózha I admired enthusiastically and +imitated; I loved him and wished to be he. + "I admired his handsome exterior, his singing,--he was always +a singer,--his drawing, his gaiety, and above all, however strange +a thing it may seem to say, the directness of his egoism.² + "I always remembered myself, was aware of myself, always +divined rightly or wrongly what others thought about me and felt +toward me; and this spoiled the joy of life for me. This was +probably the + + ¹Dmitry. My father's brother Dmitry died in 1856; +Nikolái died September 20, 1860. + ² That is to say, his eyes went always on the straightest +road to attain satisfaction for himself. +<p 420> +reason why I particularly delighted in the opposite of this in +other people; namely, directness of egoism. That is what I +especially loved in Seryózha, though the word 'loved' is +inexact. + "I loved Nikólenka, but I admired Seryózha as +something alien and incomprehensible to me. It was a human life +very beautiful, but completely incomprehensible to me, mysterious, +and therefore especially attractive. + "He died only a few days ago, and while he was ill and while +he was dying he was just as inscrutable and just as dear to me as +he had been in the distant days of our childhood. + "In these latter days, in our old age, he was fonder of me, +valued my attachment more, was prouder of me, wanted to agree with +me, but could not, and remained just the same as he had always +been; namely, something quite apart, only himself, handsome, +aristocratic, proud, and, above all, truthful and sincere to a +degree that I never met in any other man. + "He was what he was; he concealed nothing, and did not wish to +appear anything different." + Uncle Seryózha never treated children affectionately; +on the contrary, he seemed to put up with us rather than to like +us. But we always treated him with particular reverence. The +result, as I can see now, partly of his aristocratic appearance, +but chiefly because of the fact that he called my father +"Lyovótchka" and treated him just as my father treated us. + He was not only not in the least afraid of him, but was always +teasing him, and argued with him like an elder person with a +younger. We were quite alive to this. + Of course every one knew that there were no faster dogs in the +world than our black-and-white Darling and her daughter Wizard. +Not a hare could get away from them. But Uncle Seryózha +said that the gray hares about us were sluggish creatures, not at +all the same thing as steppe hares, and neither Darling nor Wizard +would get near a steppe hare. + We listened with open mouths, and did not know which to +believe, papa or Uncle Seryózha. + Uncle Seryózha went out coursing with us one day. A +number of gray hares were run down, not one, getting away; Uncle +Seryózha expressed no surprise, but still maintained that +the only reason was because they were a poor lot of hares. We +could not tell whether he was right or wrong. + Perhaps, after all, he was right, for he was more of a +sportsman than papa and had run down ever so many wolves, while we +had never known papa run any wolves down. + Afterward papa kept dogs only because there was Agáfya +Mikháilovna to be thought of, and Uncle Seryózha gave +up sport because it was impossible to keep dogs. + "Since the emancipation of the peasants," he said, "sport is +out of the question; there are no huntsmen to be had, and the +peasants turn out with sticks and drive the sportsmen off the +fields. What is there left to do nowadays? Country life has +become impossible." + With all his good breeding and sincerity, Uncle +Seryózha never concealed any characteristic but one; with +the utmost shyness he concealed the tenderness of his affections, +and if it ever forced itself into the light, it was only in +exceptional circumstances and that against his will. + He displayed with peculiar clearness a family characteristic +which was partly shared by my father, namely, an extraordinary +restraint in the expression of affection, which was often concealed +under the mask of indifference and sometimes even of unexpected +harshness. In the matter of wit and sarcasm, on the other hand, he +was strikingly original. + At one period he spent several winters in succession with his +family in Moscow. One time, after a historic concert given by +Anton Rubinstein, at which Uncle Seryózha and his daughter +had been, he came to take tea with us in Weavers' Row.¹ + My father asked him how he had liked the concert. + "Do you remember Himbut, Lyovótchka? Lieutenant +Himbut, who was forester near Yásnaya? I once asked him +what was the happiest moment of his life. Do you know what he +answered? + "'When I was in the cadet corps,' he said, 'they used to take +down my breeches now and again and lay me across a bench and flog +me. They flogged and they + + ¹Khamsvniki, a street in Moscow. +<p 421> +flogged; when they stopped, that was the happiest moment of my +life.' Well, it was only during the <i>entr'actes,</i> when +Rubinstein stopped playing, that I really enjoyed myself." + He did not always spare my father. + Once when I was out shooting with a setter near +Pirogóvo, I drove in to Uncle Seryózha's to stop the +night. + I do not remember apropos of what, but Uncle Seryózha +averred that Lyovótchka was proud. He said: + "He is always preaching humility and non-resistance, but he is +proud himself. + "Náshenka's¹ sister had a footman called Forna. +When he got drunk, he used to get under the staircase, tuck in his +legs, and lie down. One day they came and told him that the +countess was calling him. 'She can come and find me if she wants +me,' he answered. + "Lyovótchka is just the same. When Dolgóruky +sent his chief secretary Istómin to ask him to come and have +a talk with him about Syntáyef, the sectarian, do you know +what he answered? + "'Let him come here, if he wants me.' Isn't that just the +same as Forna? + "No, Lyovótchka is very proud. Nothing would induce +him to go, and he was quite right; but it's no good talking of +humility." + During the last years of Sergéi Nikoláyevitch's +life my father was particularly friendly and affectionate with him, +and delighted in sharing his thoughts with him. + A. A. Fet in his reminiscences describes the character of all +the three Tolstoy brothers with extraordinary perspicacity: + + I am convinced that the fundamental type of all the three +Tolstoy brothers was identical, just as the type of all +maple-leaves is identical, despite the variety of their +configurations. And if I set myself to develop the idea, I could +show to what a degree all three brothers shared in that passionate +enthusiasm without which it would have been impossible for one of +them to turn into the poet Lyoff Tolstoy. The difference of their +attitude to life was determined by the difference of the ways in +which they turned their backs on their unfulfilled dreams. +Nikolái quenched his ardor in skeptical derision, Lyoff +renounced his unrealized dreams with silent reproach, and +Sergéi with morbid misanthropy. The greater the original +store of love in such characters, the stronger, if only for a time, +is their resemblance to <i>Timon of Athens</i>. + +In the winter of 1901-02 my father was ill in the Crimea, and for +a long time lay between life and death. Uncle Seryózha, who +felt himself getting weaker, could not bring himself to leave +Pirogóvo, and in his own home followed anxiously the course +of my father's illness by the letters which several members of our +family wrote him, and by the bulletins in the newspapers. + When my father began to improve, I went back home, and on the +way from the Crimea went to Pirogóvo, in order to tell Uncle +Seryózha personally about the course of the illness and +about the present condition of my father's health. I remember how +joyfully and gratefully he welcomed me. + "How glad I am that you came! Now tell me all about it. Who +is with him? All of them? And who nurses him most? Do you go on +duty in turn? And at night, too? He can't get out of bed. Ah, +that's the worst thing of all! + "It will be my turn to die soon; a year sooner or later, what +does it matter? But to lie helpless, a burden to every one, to +have others doing everything for you, lifting you and helping you +to sit up, that's what's so awful. + "And how does he endure it? Got used to it, you say? No; I +cannot imagine having Vera to change my linen and wash me. Of +course she would say that it's nothing to her, but for me it would +be awful. + "And tell me, is he afraid to die? Does he say not? Very +likely; he's a strong man, he may be able to conquer the fear of +it. Yes, yes, perhaps he's not afraid; but still-- + "You say he struggles with the feeling? Why, of course; what +else can one do? + "I wanted to go and be with him; but I thought, how can I? I +shall crack up myself, and then there will be two invalids instead +of one. + "Yes, you have told me a great deal; every detail is +interesting. It is not death that's so terrible, it's illness, +helpless- + + ¹Maria Mikháilovna, his wife. +<p 422> +ness, and, above all, the fear that you are a burden to others. +That's awful, awful." + Uncle Seryózha died in 1904 of cancer in the face. +This is what my aunt, María Nikoláyevna,¹ the +nun, told me about his death. Almost to the last day he was on his +legs, and would not let any one nurse him. He was in full +possession of his faculties and consciously prepared for death. + Besides his own family, the aged María +Mikháilovna and her daughters, his sister, María +Nikoláyevna, who told me the story, was with him, too, and +from hour to hour they expected the arrival of my father, for whom +they had sent a messenger to Yásnaya. They were all +troubled with the difficult question whether the dying man would +want to receive the holy communion before he died. + Knowing Sergéi Nikoláyevitch's disbelief in the +religion of the church, no one dared to mention the subject to him, +and the unhappy María Mikháilovna hovered round his +room, wringing her hands and praying. + They awaited my father's arrival impatiently, but were +secretly afraid of his influence on his brother, and hoped against +hope that Sergéi Nikoláyevitch would send for the +priest before his arrival. + "Imagine our surprise and delight," said María Tolstoy, +"when Lyovótchka came out of his room and told María +Mikháilovna that Seryózha wanted a priest sent for. +I do not know what they had been talking about, but when +Seryózha said that he wished to take the communion, +Lyovótchka answered that he was quite right, and at once +came and told us what he wanted." + My father stayed about a week at Pirogóvo, and left two +days before my uncle died. + When he received a telegram to say he was worse, he drove over +again, but arrived too late; he was no longer living. He carried +his body out from the house with his own hands, and himself bore it +to the churchyard. + When he got back to Yásnaya he spoke with touching +affection of his parting with this "inscrutable and beloved" +brother, who was so strange and remote from him, but at the same +time so near and so akin. + + + FET, STRAKHOF, GAY + +"WHAT'S this saber doing here?" asked a young guardsman, Lieutenant +Afanásyi Afanásyevitch Fet, of the footman one day +as he entered the hall of Iván Sergéyevitch +Turgénieff's flat in St. Petersburg in the middle of the +fifties. + "It is Count Tolstoy's saber; he is asleep in the +drawing-room. And Iván Sergéyevitch is in his study +having breakfast," replied Zalchar. + "During the hour I spent with Turgénieff," says Fet, in +his reminiscences, "we talked in low voices, for fear of waking the +count, who was asleep on the other side of the door." + "He's like that all the time," said Turgénieff, +smiling; "ever since he got back from his battery at +Sebastopol,² and came to stay here, he has been going the +pace. Orgies, Gipsies, and gambling all night long, and then +sleeps like a dead man till two o'clock in the afternoon. I did my +best to stop him, but have given it up as a bad job. + "It was in this visit to St. Petersburg that I and Tolstoy +became acquainted, but the acquaintance was of a purely formal +character, as I had not yet seen a line of his writings, and had +never heard of his name in literature, except that +Turgénieff mentioned his 'Stories of Childhood.'" + Soon after this my father came to know Fet intimately, and +they struck up a firm and lasting friendship, and established a +correspondence which lasted almost till Fet's death. + It was only during the last years of Fet's life, when my +father was entirely absorbed in his new ideas, which were so at +variance with Afanásyi Afanásyevitch's whole +philosophy of life, that they became estranged and met more rarely. + It was at Fet's, at Stepánovka, that my father and +Turgénieff quarreled. + Before the railway was made, when people still had to drive, +Fet, on his way into Moscow, always used to turn in at +Yásnaya Polyána to see my father, and these visits +became an established custom. Afterward, when the railway was made +and my father was already married, Afanásyi +Afanásyevitch still never passed our house without coming +in, and if he did, + + ¹Tolstoy's sister. She became a nun after her husband's +death and the marriage of her three daughters. + ²Tolstoy was in the artillery, and commanded a battery in +the Crimea. +<p 423> +my father used to write him a letter of earnest reproaches, and he +used to apologize as if he had been guilty of some fault. In those +distant times of which I am speaking my father was bound to Fet by +a common interest in agriculture as well as literature. + Some of my father's letters of the sixties are curious in this +respect. + For instance, in 1860, he wrote a long dissertation on +Turgénieff's novel "On the Eve," which had just come out, +and at the end added a postscript: "What is the price of a set of +the best quality of veterinary instruments? And what is the price +of a set of lancets and bleeding-cups for human use?" + In another letter there is a postscript: + "When you are next in Oryol, buy me six-hundred weight of +various ropes, reins, and traces," and on the same page: "'Tender +art thou,' and the whole thing is charming. You have never done +anything better; it is all charming." The quotation is from Fet's +poem: + +The lingering clouds' last throng flies over us. + + But it was not only community of interests that brought my +father and Afanásyi Afanásyevitch together. The +reason of their intimacy lay in the fact that, as my father +expressed it, they "thought alike with their heart's mind." + I also remember Nikolái Nikoláyevitch Strakhof's +visits. He was a remarkably quiet and modest man. He appeared at +Yásnaya Polyána in the beginning of the seventies, +and from that time on came and stayed with us almost every summer +till he died. + He had big, gray eyes, wide open, as if in astonishment; a +long beard with a touch of gray in it; and when he spoke, at the +end of every sentence he gave a shy laugh. + When he addressed my father, he always said "Lef +Nikoláyevitch" instead of Lyoff Nikolaievich, like other +people. + He always stayed down-stairs in my father's study, and spent +his whole day there reading or writing, with a thick cigarette, +which he rolled himself, in his mouth. + Strakhof and my father came together originally on a purely +business footing. When the first part of my father's "Alphabet and +Reading-Book" was printed, Strakhof had charge of the +proof-reading. This led to a correspondence between him and my +father, of a business character at first, later developing into +a philosophical and friendly one. While he was writing "Anna +Karénina," my father set great store by his opinion and +valued his critical instinct very highly. + "It is enough for me that that is your opinion," he writes +in a letter of 1872, probably apropos of the "Alphabet." + In 1876, apropos of "Anna Karénina" this time, my +father wrote: + "You ask me whether you have understood my novel aright, and +what I think of your opinion. Of course you understood it aright. +Of course I am overjoyed at your understanding of it; but it does +not follow that everybody will understand it as you do." + But it was not only his critical work that drew my father to +Strakhof. He disliked critics on the whole and used to say that +the only people who took to criticism were those who had no +creative faculty of their own. "The stupid ones judge the clever +ones," he said of professional critics. What he valued most in +Strakhof was the profound and penetrating thinker. He was a "real +friend" of my father's,--my father himself so described him,--and +I recall his memory with deep affection and respect. + At last I have come to the memory of the man who was nearer in +spirit to my father than any other human being, namely, +Nikolái Nikoláyevitch Gay. Grandfather Gay, as we +called him, made my father's acquaintance in 1882. While living +on his farm in the Province of Tchernigoff, he chanced to read my +father's pamphlet "On the Census," and finding a solution in it of +the very questions which were troubling him at the time, without +delay he started out and hurried into Moscow. I remember his first +arrival, and I have always retained the impression that from the +first words they exchanged he and my father understood each other, +and found themselves speaking the same language. + Just like my father, Gay was at this time passing through a +great spiritual crisis; and traveling almost the same road as my +father in his search after truth, he had arrived at the study of +the Gospel <p 424> and a new understanding of it. My sister +Tatyána wrote: + +For the personality of Christ he entertained a passionate and +tender affection, as if for a near and familiar friend whom he +loved with all the strength of his soul. Often during heated +arguments Nikolái Nikoláyevitch would take the +Gospel, which he always carried about with him, from his pocket, +and read out some passage from it appropriate to the subject in +hand. "This book contains everything that a man needs," he used to +say on these occasions. + While reading the Gospel, he often looked up at the person he +was talking to and went on reading without looking at the book. +His face glowed at such moments with such inward joy that one could +see how near and dear the words he was reading were to his heart. + He knew the whole Gospel almost by heart, but he said that +every time he read it he enjoyed a new and genuine spiritual +delight. He said that not only was everything intelligible to him +in the Gospel, but that when he read it he seemed to be reading in +his own soul, and felt himself capable of rising higher and higher +toward God and merging himself in Him. + + + TURGÉNIEFF + +I DO not mean to recount all the misunderstandings which existed +between my father and Turgénieff, which ended in a complete +breach between them in 1861. The actual external facts of that +story are common property, and there is no need to repeat +them.¹ According to general opinion, the quarrel between the +two greatest writers of the day arose out of their literary +rivalry. + It is my intention to show cause against this generally +received opinion, and before I come to Turgénieff's visits +to Yásnaya Polyána, I want to make as clear as I can +the real reason of the perpetual discords between these two +good-hearted people, who had a cordial affection for each other-- +discords which led in the end to an out-and-out quarrel and the +exchange of mutual defiance. + As far as I know, my father never had any serious difference +with any other human being during the whole course of his +existence. And Turgénieff, in a letter to my father in +1865, wrote, "You are the only man with whom I have ever had +misunderstandings." + Whenever my father related his quarrel with Iván +Sergéyevitch, he took all the blame on himself. +Turgénieff, immediately after the quarrel, wrote a letter +apologizing to my father, and never sought to justify his own part +in it. + Why was it that, as Turgénieff himself put it, his +"constellation" and my father's "moved in the ether with +unquestioned enmity"? + This is what my sister Tatyána wrote on the subject in +her article "Turgénieff," published in the supplement to +the "Novoye Vrémya," February 2, 1908: + + All question of literary rivalry, it seems to me, is utterly +beside the mark. Turgénieff, from the very outset of my +father's literary career, acknowledged his enormous talents, and +never thought of rivalry with him. From the moment when, as early +as 1854, he wrote to Kolbásina, "If Heaven only grant +Tolstoy life, I confidently hope that he will surprise us all," he +never ceased to follow my father's work with interest, and always +expressed his unbounded admiration of it. + + "When this young wine has done fermenting," he wrote to +Druzhénin in 1856, "the result will be a liquor worthy of +the gods." In 1857 he wrote to Polónsky, "This man will go +far, and leave deep traces behind him." + Nevertheless, somehow these two men never could "hit it off" +together. When one reads Turgénieff's letters to my father, +one sees that from the very beginning of their acquaintance +misunderstandings were always arising, which they perpetually +endeavored to smooth down or to forget, but which arose again after +a time, sometimes in another form, necessitating new explanations +and reconciliations. + In 1856 Turgénieff wrote to my father: + + Your letter took some time reaching me, dear Lyoff +Nikolaievich. Let me begin by + + ¹Fet, at whose house the quarrel took place, tells all +about it in his memoirs. Tolstoy dogmatized about lady-like +charity, apropos of Turgénieff's daughter. +Turgénieff, in a fit of nerves, threatened to box his ears. +Tolstoy challenged him to a duel, and Turgénieff apologized. +<p 425> +saying that I am very grateful to you for sending it to me. I +shall never cease to love you and to value your friendship, +although, probably through my fault, each of us will long feel +considerable awkwardness in the presence of the other. . . . I +think that you yourself understand the reason of this awkwardness +of which I speak. You are the only man with whom I have ever had +misunderstandings. + This arises from the very fact that I have never been willing +to confine myself to merely friendly relations with you. I have +always wanted to go further and deeper than that; but I set about +it clumsily. I irritated and upset you, and when I saw my mistake, +I drew back too hastily, perhaps; and it was this which caused this +"gulf" between us. + But this awkwardness is a mere physical impression, nothing +more; and if when we meet again, you see the old "mischievous look +in my eyes," believe me, the reason of it will not be that I am a +bad man. I assure you that there is no need to look for any other +explanation. Perhaps I may add, also, that I am much older than +you, and I have traveled a different road. . . . Outside of our +special, so-called "literary" interests, I am convinced, we have +few points of contact. Your whole being stretches out hands toward +the future; mine is built up in the past. For me to follow you is +impossible. For you to follow me is equally out of the question. +You are too far removed from me, and besides, you stand too firmly +on your own legs to become any one's disciple. I can assure you +that I never attributed any malice to you, never suspected you of +any literary envy. I have often thought, if you will excuse the +expression, that you were wanting in common sense, but never in +goodness. You are too penetrating not to know that if either of us +has cause to envy the other, it is certainly not you that has cause +to envy me. + + The following year he wrote a letter to my father which, it +seems to me, is a key to the understanding of Turgénieff's +attitude toward him: + + You write that you are very glad you did not follow my advice +and become a pure man of letters. I don't deny it; perhaps you are +right. Still, batter my poor brains as I may, I cannot imagine +what else you are if you are not a man of letters. A soldier? A +squire? A philosopher? The founder of a new religious doctrine? +A civil servant? A man of business? . . . Please resolve my +difficulties, and tell me which of these suppositions is correct. +I am joking, but I really do wish beyond all things to see you +under way at last, with all sails set. + + It seems to me that Turgénieff, as an artist, saw +nothing in my father beyond his great literary talent, and was +unwilling to allow him the right to be anything besides an artist +and a writer. Any other line of activity on my father's part +offended Turgénieff, as it were, and he was angry with my +father because he did not follow his advice. He was much older +than my father,¹ he did not hesitate to rank his own talent +lower than my father's, and demanded only one thing of him, that he +should devote all the energies of his life to his literary work. +And, lo and behold! my father would have nothing to do with his +magnanimity and humility, would not listen to his advice, but +insisted on going the road which his own tastes and nature pointed +out to him. Turgénieff's tastes and character were +diametrically opposed to my father's. While opposition always +inspired my father and lent him strength, it had just the opposite +effect on Turgénieff. + Being wholly in agreement with my sister's views, I will +merely supplement them with the words uttered by his brother, +Nikolái Nikoláyevitch, who said that +"Turgénieff cannot reconcile himself to the idea that +Lyovótchka is growing up and freeing himself from his +tutelage." + As a matter of fact, when Turgénieff was already a +famous writer, no one had ever heard of Tolstoy, and, as Fet +expressed it, there was only "something said about his stories from +'Childhood.'" + I can imagine with what secret veneration a young writer, just +beginning, must have regarded Turgénieff at that time, and +all the more because Iván Sergéyevitch was a great +friend of my father's elder and beloved brother Nikolái. + I do not like to assert it positively, but it seems to me that +just as Turgénieff was unwilling to confine himself to +"merely + + ¹Turgénieff was ten years older than Tolstoy. +<p 426> +friendly relations," so my father also felt too warmly toward +Iván Sergéyevitch, and that was the very reason why +they could never meet without disagreeing and quarreling. In +confirmation of what I say here is a passage from a letter written +by V. Bótkin, a close friend of my father's and of +Iván Sergéyevitch's, to A. A. Fet, written +immediately after their quarrel: + + I think that Tolstoy really has a passionately affectionate +nature and he would like to love Turgénieff in the warmest +way possible; but unfortunately his impulsive feeling encounters +nothing but a kindly, good-natured indifference, and he can by no +means reconcile himself to that. + + Turgénieff himself said that when they first came to +know each other my father dogged his heels "like a woman in love," +and at one time he used to avoid him, because he was afraid of his +spirit of opposition. + My father was perhaps irritated by the slightly patronizing +tone which Turgénieff adopted from the very outset of their +acquaintance; and Turgénieff was irritated by my father's +"crankiness," which distracted him from "his proper +<i>métier,</i> literature." + In 1870, before the date of the quarrel, Turgénieff +wrote to Fet: + "Lyoff Tolstoy continues to play the crank. It was evidently +written in his stars. When will he turn his last somersault and +stand on his feet at last?" + Turgénieff was just the same about my father's +"Confession," which he read not long before his death. Having +promised to read it, "to try to understand it," and "not to lose my +temper," he "started to write a long letter in answer to the +'Confession,' but never finished it . . . for fear of becoming +disputatious." + In a letter to D. V. Grigórevitch he called the book, +which was based, in his opinion, on false premises, "a denial of +all live human life" and "a new sort of Nihilism." + It is evident that even then Turgénieff did not +understand what a mastery my father's new philosophy of life had +obtained over him, and he was inclined to attribute his enthusiasm +along with the rest to the same perpetual "crankinesses" and +"somersaults" to which he had formerly attributed his interest in +school-teaching, agriculture, the publication of a paper, and so +forth. + +IVÁN SERGÉYEVITCH three times visited Yásnaya +Polyána within my memory, in: August and September, 1878, +and the third and last time at the beginning of May, 1880. I can +remember all these visits, although it is quite possible that +some details have escaped me. + I remember that when we expected Turgénieff on his +first visit, it was a great occasion, and the most anxious and +excited of all the household about it was my mother. She told us +that my father had quarreled with Turgénieff and had +once challenged him to a duel, and that he was now coming at my +father's invitation to effect a reconciliation. + Turgénieff spent all the time sitting with my father, +who during his visit put aside even his work, and once in the +middle of the day my mother collected us all at a quite unusual +hour in the drawing-room, where Iván Sergéyevitch +read us his story of "The Dog." + I can remember his tall, stalwart figure, his gray, silky, +yellowish hair, his soft tread, rather waddling walk, and his +piping voice, quite out of keeping with his majestic exterior. He +had a chuckling kind of laugh, like a child's, and when he laughed +his voice was more piping than ever. + In the evening, after dinner, we all gathered in the +<i>zala</i>. At that time Uncle Seryózha, Prince +Leoníd Dmítryevitch Urúsof, Vice-Governor of +the Province of Tula; Uncle Sasha Behrs and his young wife, the +handsome Georgian Patty; and the whole family of the +Kuzmínskys, were staying at Yásnaya. + Aunt Tánya was asked to sing. We listened with +beating hearts, and waited to hear what Turgénieff, the +famous connoisseur, would say about her singing. Of course he +praised it, sincerely, I think. After the singing a quadrille was +got up. All of a sudden, in the middle of the quadrille, +Iván Sergéyevitch, who was sitting at one side +looking on, got up and took one of the ladies by the hand, and, +putting his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat, danced a +cancan according to the latest rules of Parisian art. Every <p +427> one roared with laughter, Turgénieff more than anybody. + After tea the "grown-ups" started some conversation, and a +warm dispute arose among them. It was Prince Urúsof who +disputed most warmly, and "went for" Turgénieff. + Of Turgénieff's third visit I remember the woodcock +shooting. This was on the second or third of May, 1880. + We all went out together beyond the Voronka, my father, my +mother and all the children. My father gave Turgénieff the +best place and posted himself one hundred and fifty paces away at +the other end of the same glade. + My mother stood by Turgénieff, and we children lighted +a bonfire not far off. + My father fired several shots and brought down two birds; +Iván Sergéyevitch had no luck, and was envying my +father's good fortune all the time. At last, when it was beginning +to get dark, a woodcock flew over Turgénieff, and he shot +it. + "Killed it?" called out my father. + "Fell like a stone; send your dog to pick him up," answered +Iván Sergéyevitch. + My father sent us with the dog, Turgénieff showed us +where to look for the bird; but search as we might, and the dog, +too, there was no woodcock to be found. At last Turgénieff +came to help, and my father came; there was no woodcock there. + "Perhaps you only winged it; it may have got away along the +ground," said my father, puzzled. "It is impossible that the dog +shouldn't find it; he couldn't miss a bird that was killed." + "I tell you I saw it with my own eyes, Lyoff Nikolaievich; it +fell like a stone. I didn't wound it; I killed it outright. I can +tell the difference." + "Then why can't the dog find it? It's impossible; there's +something wrong." + "I don't know anything about that," insisted +Turgénieff. "You may take it from me I'm not lying; it fell +like a stone where I tell you." + There was no finding the woodcock, and the incident left an +unpleasant flavor, as if one or the other of them was in the wrong. +Either Turgénieff was bragging when he said that he shot it +dead, or my father, in maintaining that the dog could not fail to +find a bird that had been killed. + And this must needs happen just when they were both so anxious +to avoid every sort of misunderstanding! That was the very reason +why they had carefully fought shy of all serious conversation, and +spent all their time merely amusing themselves. + When my father said good night to us that night, he whispered +to us that we were to get up early and go back to the place to have +a good hunt for the bird. + And what was the result? The woodcock, in falling, had caught +in the fork of a branch, right at the top of an aspen-tree, and it +was all we could do to knock it out from there. + When we brought it home in triumph, it was something of an +"occasion," and my father and Turgénieff were far more +delighted than we were. It turned out that they were both in the +right, and everything ended to their mutual satisfaction. + Iván Sergéyevitch slept down-stairs in my +father's study. When the party broke up for the night, I used to +see him to his room, and while he was undressing I sat on his bed +and talked sport with him. + He asked me if I could shoot. I said yes, but that I didn't +care to go out shooting because I had nothing but a rotten old +one-barreled gun. + "I'll give you a gun," he said. "I've got two in Paris, and +I have no earthly need for both. It's not an expensive gun, but +it's a good one. Next time I come to Russia I'll bring it with +me." + I was quite taken aback and thanked him heartily. I was +tremendously delighted at the idea that I was to have a real +central-fire gun. + Unfortunately, Turgénieff never came to Russia again. +I tried afterward to buy the gun he had spoken of from his legatees +not in the quality of a central-fire gun, but as +Turgénieff's gun; but I did not succeed. + That is all that I can remember about this delightful, +naïvely cordial man, with the childlike eyes and the childlike +laugh, and in the picture my mind preserves of him the memory of +his grandeur melts into the charm of his good nature and +simplicity. + In 1883 my father received from Iván +Sergéyevitch his last farewell letter, written in pencil on +his death-bed, and I remember with what emotion he read it. <p 428> +And when the news of his death came, my father would talk of +nothing else for several days, and inquired everywhere for details +of his illness and last days. + Apropos of this letter of Turgénieff's, I should like +to say that my father was sincerely annoyed, when he heard applied +to himself the epithet "great writer of the land of Russia," which +was taken from this letter. + He always hated <i>clichés,</i> and he regarded this +one as quite absurd. + "Why not 'writer of the land'? I never heard before that a +man could be the writer of a land. People get attached to some +nonsensical expression, and go on repeating it in season and out of +season." + I have given extracts above from Turgénieff's letters, +which show the invariable consistency with which he lauded my +father's literary talents. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same of +my father's attitude toward Turgénieff. + In this, too, the want of dispassionateness in his nature +revealed itself. Personal relations prevented him from being +objective. + In 1867, apropos of Turgénieff's "Smoke," which had +just appeared, he wrote to Fet: + + There is hardly any love of anything in "Smoke" and hardly any +poetry. The only thing it shows love for is light and playful +adultery, and for that reason the poetry of the story is repulsive. +. . . I am timid in expressing this opinion, because I cannot form +a sober judgment about an author whose personality I dislike. + +In 1865, before the final breach with Turgénieff, he wrote, +again to Fet: "I do not like 'Enough'! A personal subjective +treatment is never good unless it is full of life and passion; but +the subjectivity in this case is full of lifeless suffering. + In the autumn of 1883, after Turgénieff's death, when +the family had gone into Moscow for the winter, my father stayed at +Yásnaya Polyána alone, with Agáfya +Mikháilovna, and set earnestly about reading through all +Turgénieff's works. + This is what he wrote to my mother at the time: + + I am always thinking about Turgénieff. I am intensely +fond of him, and sorry for him, and do nothing but read him. I +live entirely with him. I shall certainly give a lecture on him, +or write it to be read; tell Yúryef. + "Enough"--read it; it is perfectly charming. + + Unfortunately, my father's intended lecture on +Turgénieff never came off. The Government forbade him to +pay this last tribute to his dead friend, with whom he had +quarreled all his life only because he could not be indifferent to +him. + + (To be continued) + + + + + +<p 561> + + REMINISCENCES OF TOLSTOY + + BY HIS SON, COUNT ILYÁ TOLSTOY + + TRANSLATED BY GEORGE CALDERON + +AT this point I shall turn back and try to trace the influence +which my father had on my upbringing, and I shall recall as well as +I can the impressions that he left on my mind in my childhood, and +later in the melancholy days of my early manhood, which happened to +coincide with the radical change in his whole philosophy of life. + In 1852, tired of life in the Caucasus and remembering his old +home at Yásnaya Polyána, he wrote to his aunt, +Tatyána Alexándrovna: + +After some years, I shall find myself, neither very young nor very +old, back at Yásnaya Polyána again: my affairs will +all be in order; I shall have no anxieties for the future and +no troubles in the present. + You also will be living at Yásnaya. You will be +getting a little old, but you will be healthy and vigorous. We +shall lead the life we led in the old days; I shall work in the +mornings, but we shall meet and see each other almost all day. + We shall dine together in the evening. I shall read you +something that interests you. Then we shall talk: I shall tell you +about my life in the Caucasus; you will give me reminiscences of my +father and mother; you will tell me some of those "terrible +stories" to which we used to listen in the old days with frightened +eyes and open mouths. + We shall talk about the people that we loved and who are no +more. + You will cry, and I, too; but our tears will be refreshing, +tranquilizing tears. We shall talk about my brothers, who will +visit us from time to time, and about dear Masha, who will also +spend several months every year at Yásnaya, which she loves, +with all her children. + We shall have no acquaintances; no one will come in to bore us +with gossip. + It is a wonderful dream; but that is not all that I let myself +dream of. + I shall be married. My wife will be gentle, kind, and +affectionate; she will love you as I do; we shall have children who +will call you granny; you will live in the big house, in the same +room on the top floor where my grandmother lived before. + The whole house will be run on the same lines as it was in my +father's time, and we shall begin the same life over again, but +with a change of rôles. + + You will take my grandmother's place, but you will be better +still than she was; I shall take my father's place, though I can +never hope to be worthy of the honor. + My wife will take my mother's place, and the children ours. + Masha will fill the part of both my aunts, except for their +sorrow; and there will even be Gasha there to take the place of +Prashovya Ilyínitchna. + The only thing lacking will be some one to take the part you +played in the life of our family. We shall never find such a noble +and loving heart as yours. There is no one to succeed you. + There will be three new faces that will appear among us from +time to time: my brothers, especially one who will often be with +us, Nikólenka, who will be an old bachelor, bald, retired, +always the same kindly, noble fellow. + + Just ten years after this letter, my father married, and +almost all his dreams were realized, just as he had wished. Only +the big house, with his grandmother's room, was missing, and his +brother Nikólenka, with the dirty hands, for he died two +years before, in 1860. In his family life my father witnessed a +repetition of the life of his parents, and in us children he sought +to find a repetition of himself and his brothers. We were brought +up as regular gentlefolk, proud of our social position and holding +aloof from all the outer world. Everything that was not us was +below us, and therefore unworthy of imitation. I knew that my +father felt very earnestly about the <p 562> chastity of young +people; I knew how much strength he laid on purity. An early +marriage seemed to me the best solution of the difficult question +that must harass every thoughtful boy when he attains to man's +estate. + Two or three years later, when I was eighteen and we were +living in Moscow, I fell in love with a young lady I knew, my +present wife, and went almost every Saturday to her father's house. + My father knew, but said nothing. One day when he was going +out for a walk I asked if I might go with him. As I very seldom +went for walks with him in Moscow, he guessed that I wanted to have +a serious talk with him about something, and after walking some +distance in silence, evidently feeling that I was shy about it and +did not like to break the ice, he suddenly began: + "You seem to go pretty often to the F----s'." + I said that I was very fond of the eldest daughter. + "Oh, do you want to marry her?" + "Yes." + "Is she a good girl? Well, mind you don't make a mistake, and +don't be false to her," he said with a curious gentleness and +thoughtfulness. + I left him at once and ran back home, delighted, along the +Arbat. I was glad that I had told him the truth, and his +affectionate and cautious way of taking it strengthened my +affection both for him, to whom I was boundlessly grateful for his +cordiality, and for her, whom I loved still more warmly from that +moment, and to whom I resolved still more fervently never to be +untrue. + My father's tactfulness toward us amounted almost to timidity. +There were certain questions which he could never bring himself to +touch on for fear of causing us pain. I shall never forget how +once in Moscow I found him sitting writing at the table in my room +when I dashed in suddenly to change my clothes. + My bed stood behind a screen, which hid him from me. + When he heard my footsteps he said, without looking round: + "Is that you, Ilyá?" + "Yes, it's I." + "Are you alone? Shut the door. There's no one to hear us, +and we can't see each other, so we shall not feel ashamed. Tell +me, did you ever have anything to do with women?" + When I said no, I suddenly heard him break out sobbing, like +a little child. + I sobbed and cried, too, and for a long time we stayed weeping +tears of joy, with the screen between us, and we were neither of us +ashamed, but both so joyful that I look on that moment as one of +the happiest in my whole life. + No arguments or homilies could ever have effected what the +emotion I experienced at that moment did. Such tears as those shed +by a father of sixty can never be forgotten even in moments of the +strongest temptation. + My father observed my inward life most attentively between the +ages of sixteen and twenty, noted all my doubts and hesitations, +encouraged me in my good impulses, and often found fault with me +for inconsistency. + I still have some of his letters written at that time. Here +are two: + + I had just written you, my dear friend Ilyá, a letter +that was true to my own feelings, but, I am afraid, unjust, and I +am not sending it. I said unpleasant things in it, but I have no +right to do so. I do not know you as I should like to and as I +ought to know you. That is my fault. And I wish to remedy it. I +know much in you that I do not like, but I do not know everything. +As for your proposed journey home, I think that in your position +of student, not only student of a gymnase, but at the age of study, +it is better to gad about as little as possible; moreover, all +useless expenditure of money that you can easily refrain from is +immoral, in my opinion, and in yours, too, if you only consider it. +If you come, I shall be glad for my own sake, so long as you are +not inseparable from G----. + Do as you think best. But you must work, both with your head, +thinking and reading, and with your heart; that is, find out for +yourself what is really good and what is bad, although it seems to +be good. I kiss you. + L. T. + +Dear Friend Ilyá: + There is always somebody or something that prevents me from +answering your two letters, which are important and dear to me, +especially the last. First it was Baturlín, <p 563> then +bad health, insomnia, then the arrival of D----, the friend of +H---- that I wrote you about. He is sitting at tea talking to the +ladies, neither understanding the other; so I left them, and want +to write what little I can of all that I think about you. + Even supposing that S---- A---- demands too much of you,¹ +there is no harm in waiting; especially from the point of view of +fortifying your opinions, your faith. That is the one important +thing. If you don't, it is a fearful disaster to put off from one +shore and not reach the other. + The one shore is an honest and good life, for your own delight +and the profit of others. But there is a bad life, too--a life so +sugared, so common to all, that if you follow it, you do not notice +that it is a bad life, and suffer only in your conscience, if you +have one; but if you leave it, and do not reach the real shore, you +will be made miserable by solitude and by the reproach of having +deserted your fellows, and you will be ashamed. In short, I want +to say that it is out of the question to want to be rather good; it +is out of the question to jump into the water unless you know how +to swim. One must be truthful and wish to be good with all one's +might, too. Do you feel this in you? The drift of what I say is +that we all know what <i>Princess Márya +Alexévna's</i>² verdict about your marriage would be: +that if young people marry without a sufficient fortune, it means +children, poverty, getting tired of each other in a year or two; in +ten years, quarrels, want--hell. And in all this <i>Princess +Márya Alexévna</i> is perfectly right and plays the +true prophet, unless these young people who are getting married +have another purpose, their one and only one, unknown to +<i>Princess Márya Alexévna,</i> and that not a +brainish purpose, not one recognized by the intellect, but one +that gives life its color and the attainment of which is more +moving than any other. If you have this, good; marry at once, and +give the lie to <i>Princess Márya Alexévna</i>. If +not, it is a hundred to one that your marriage will lead to nothing +but misery. I am speaking to you from the bottom of my heart. +Receive my words into the bottom of yours, and weigh them well. +Besides love for you as a son, I have love for you also as a man +standing at the cross-ways. I kiss you and Lyólya and +Nolétchka and Seryózha, if he is back. We are all +alive and well. + + The following letter belongs to the same period: + + Your letter to Tánya has arrived, my dear friend +Ilyá, and I see that you are still advancing toward that +purpose which you set up for yourself; and I want to write to you +and to her--for no doubt you tell her everything--what I think +about it. Well, I think about it a great deal, with joy and with +fear mixed. This is what I think. If one marries in order to +enjoy oneself more, no good will ever come of it. To set up as +one's main object, ousting everything else, marriage, union with +the being you love, is a great mistake. And an obvious one, if you +think about it. Object, marriage. Well, you marry; and what then? +If you had no other object in life before your marriage, it will be +twice as hard to find one. + As a rule, people who are getting married completely forget +this. + So many joyful events await them in the future, in wedlock and +the arrival of children, that those events seem to constitute life +itself. But this is indeed a dangerous illusion. + If parents merely live from day to day, begetting children, +and have no purpose in life, they are only putting off the question +of the purpose of life and that punishment which is allotted to +people who live without knowing why; they are only putting it off +and not escaping it, because they will have to bring up their +children and guide their steps, but they will have nothing to guide +them by. And then the parents lose their human qualities and the +happiness which depends on the possession of them, and turn into +mere breeding cattle. + That is why I say that people who are proposing to marry +because their life <i>seems</i> to them to be full must more than +ever set themselves to think and make clear to their own minds for +the sake of what each of them lives. + And in order to make this clear, you must consider the +circumstances in which you live, your past. Reckon up what you +consider + + ¹I had written to my father that my fiancée's +mother would not let me marry for two years. + ²My father took Griboyéhof's <i>Princess +Márya Alexévna</i> as a type. The allusion here is +to the last words of Griboyéhof's famous comedy, "The +Misfortune of Cleverness," "What will <i>Princess Márya +Alexévna</i> say?" +<p 564> +important and what unimportant in life. Find out what you believe +in; that is, what you look on as eternal and immutable truth, and +what you will take for your guide in life. And not only find out, +but make clear to your own mind, and try to practise or to learn to +practise in your daily life; because until you practise what you +believe you cannot tell whether you believe it or not. + I know your faith, and that faith, or those sides of it which +can be expressed in deeds, you must now more than ever make clear +to your own mind, by putting them into practice. + Your faith is that your welfare consists in loving people and +being loved by them. For the attainment of this end I know of +three lines of action in which I perpetually exercise myself, in +which one can never exercise oneself enough and which are specially +necessary to you now. + First, in order to be able to love people and to be loved by +them, one must accustom oneself to expect as little as possible +from them, and that is very hard work; for if I expect much, and +am often disappointed, I am inclined rather to reproach them than +to love them. + Second, in order to love people not in words, but in deed, one +must train oneself to do what benefits them. That needs still +harder work, especially at your age, when it is one's natural +business to be studying. + Third, in order to love people and to b. l. b. t.,¹ one +must train oneself to gentleness, humility, the art of bearing with +disagreeable people and things, the art of behaving to them so as +not to offend any one, of being able to choose the least offense. +And this is the hardest work of all--work that never ceases from +the time you wake till the time you go to sleep, and the most +joyful work of all, because day after day you rejoice in your +growing success in it, and receive a further reward, unperceived +at first, but very joyful after, in being loved by others. + So I advise you, Friend Ilyá, and both of you, to live +and to think as sincerely as you can, because it is the only way +you can discover if you are really going along the same road, and +whether it is wise to join hands or not; and at the same time, if +you are sincere, you must be making your future ready. + Your purpose in life must not be the joy of wedlock, but, by +your life to bring more love and truth into the world. The object +of marriage is to help one another in the attainment of that +purpose. + The vilest and most selfish life is the life of the people who +have joined together only in order to enjoy life; and the highest +vocation in the world is that of those who live in order to serve +God by bringing good into the world, and who have joined together +for that very purpose. Don't mistake half-measures for the real +thing. Why should a man not choose the highest? Only when you +have chosen the highest, you must set your whole heart on it, and +not just a little. Just a little leads to nothing. There, I am +tired of writing, and still have much left that I wanted to say. +I kiss you. + + + HELP FOR THE FAMINE-STRICKEN + +AFTER my father had come to the conclusion that it was not only +useless to help people with money, but immoral, the part he took in +distributing food among the peasants during the famines of 1890, +1891, and 1898 may seem to have shown inconsistency and +contradiction of thought. + "If a horseman sees that his horse is tired out, he must not +remain seated on its back and hold up its head, but simply get +off," he used to say, condemning all the charities of the well-fed +people who sit on the back of the working classes, continue to +enjoy all the benefits of their privileged position, and merely +give from their superfluity. + He did not believe in the good of such charity and considered +it a form of self-hallucination, all the more harmful because +people thereby acquire a sort of moral right to continue that idle, +aristocratic life and get to go on increasing the poverty of the +people. + In the autumn of 1890 my father thought of writing an article +on the famine, which had then spread over nearly all Russia. + Although from the newspapers and from the accounts brought by +those who came from the famine-stricken parts he already knew about +the extent of the peasantry's disaster, nevertheless, when his old +friend Ivánovitch Rayóvsky called on him at +Yásnaya Polyána and proposed that he should drive +through to the Dankóvski + + ¹Be loved by them. +<p 565> +District with him in order to see the state of things in the +villages for himself, he readily agreed, and went with him to his +property at Begitchóvka. + He went there with the intention of staying only for a day or +two; but when he saw what a call there was for immediate measures, +he at once set to work to help Rayóvsky, who had already +instituted several kitchens in the villages, in relieving the +distress of the peasantry, at first on a small scale, and then, +when big subscriptions began to pour in from every side, on a +continually increasing one. The upshot of it was that he devoted +two whole years of his life to the work. + It is wrong to think that my father showed any inconsistency +in this matter. He did not delude himself for a moment into +thinking he was engaged on a virtuous and momentous task, but when +he saw the sufferings of the people, he simply could not bear to go +on living comfortably at Yásnaya or in Moscow any longer, +but had to go out and help in order to relieve his own feelings. +Once he wrote: + + There is much about it that is not what it ought to be; there +is S. A.'s money¹ and the subscriptions; there is the relation +of those who feed and those who are fed. <i>There is sin without +end,</i> but I cannot stay at home and write. I feel the necessity +of taking part in it, of doing something. + + Six years later I worked again at the same job with my father +in Tchornski and Mtsenski districts. + After the bad crops of the two preceding years it became clear +by the beginning of the winter of 1898 that a new famine was +approaching in our neighborhood, and that charitable assistance to +the peasantry would be needed. I turned to my father for help. By +the spring he had managed to collect some money, and at the +beginning of April he came himself to see me. + I must say that my father, who was very economical by nature, +was extraordinarily cautious and, I may say, even parsimonious in +charitable matters. It is of course easy to understand, if one +considers the unlimited confidence which he enjoyed among the +subscribers and the great moral responsibility which he could not +but feel toward them. So that before undertaking anything he had +himself to be fully convinced of the necessity of giving aid. + The day after his arrival, we saddled a couple of horses and +rode out. We rode as we had ridden together twenty years before, +when we went out coursing with our greyhounds; that is, across +country, over the fields. + It was all the same to me which way we rode, as I believed +that all the neighboring villages were equally distressed, and +my father, for the sake of old memories, wanted to revisit +Spásskoye Lyutovinóvo, which was only six miles from +me, and where he had not been since Turgénieff's death. On +the way there I remember he told me all about Turgénieff's +mother, who was famous through all the neighborhood for her +remarkable intelligence, energy, and craziness. I do not know that +he ever saw her himself, or whether he was telling me only the +reports that he had heard. + As we rode across the Turgénieff's [sic] park, he +recalled in passing how of old he and Ivan Sergéyevitch had +disputed which park was best, Spásskoye or Yásnaya +Polyána. I asked him: + "And now which do you think?" + "Yásnaya Polyána <i>is</i> the best, though this +is very fine, very fine indeed." + In the village we visited the head-man's and two or three +other cottages, and came away disappointed. There was no famine. + The peasants, who had been endowed at the emancipation with a +full share of good land, and had enriched themselves since by +wage-earnings, were hardly in want at all. It is true that some of +the yards were badly stocked; but there was none of that acute +degree of want which amounts to famine and which strikes the eye at +once. + I even remember my father reproaching me a little for having +sounded the alarm when there was no sufficient cause for it, and +for a little while I felt rather ashamed and awkward before him. + Of course when he talked to the peasants he asked each of them +if he remembered Turgénieff and eagerly picked up anything +they had to say about him. Some of the old men remembered him and +spoke of him with great affection. + + ¹His wife's. +<p 566> + + MY FATHER'S ILLNESS IN THE CRIMEA + +IN the autumn of 1901 my father was attacked by persistent +feverishness, and the doctors advised him to spend the winter in +the Crimea. Countess Panina kindly lent him her Villa Gaspra, near +Koréiz, and he spent the winter there. + Soon after his arrival, he caught cold and had two illnesses +one after the other, enteric fever and inflammation of the lungs. +At one time his condition was so bad that the doctors had hardly +any hope that he would ever rise from his bed again. Despite the +fact that his temperature went up very high, he was conscious all +the time; he dictated some reflections every day, and deliberately +prepared for death. + The whole family was with him, and we all took turns in +helping to nurse him. I look back with pleasure on the nights when +it fell to me to be on duty by him, and I sat in the balcony by +the open window, listening to his breathing and every sound in his +room. My chief duty, as the strongest of the family, was to lift +him up while the sheets were being changed. When they were making +the bed, I had to hold him in my arms like a child. + I remember how my muscles quivered one day with the exertion. +He looked at me with astonishment and said: + "You surely don't find me heavy? What nonsense!" + I thought of the day when he had given me a bad time at riding +in the woods as a boy, and kept asking, "You're not tired?" + Another time during the same illness he wanted me to carry him +down-stairs in my arms by the winding stone staircase. + "Pick me up as they do a baby and carry me." + He had not a grain of fear that I might stumble and kill him. +It was all I could do to insist on his being carried down in an +arm-chair by three of us. + Was my father afraid of death? + It is impossible to answer the question in one word. With his +tough constitution and physical strength, he always instinctively +fought not only against death, but against old age. Till the last +year of his life he never gave in, but always did everything for +himself and even rode on horseback. + To suppose, therefore, that he had no instinctive fear of +death is out of the question. He had that fear, and in a very +high degree, but he was constantly fighting to overcome it. + Did he succeed? + I can answer definitely yes. During his illness he talked a +great deal of death and prepared himself for it firmly and +deliberately. When he felt that he was getting weaker, he wished +to say good-by to everybody, and he called us all separately to his +bedside, one after the other, and gave his last words of advice to +each. He was so weak that he spoke in a half-whisper, and when he +had said good-by to one, he had to rest for a while and collect his +strength for the rest. + When my turn came, he said as nearly as I can remember: + "You are still young and strong and tossed by storms of +passion. You have not therefore yet been able to think over the +chief questions of life. But this stage will pass. I am sure of +it. When the time comes, believe me, you will find the truth in +the teachings of the Gospel. I am dying peacefully simply because +I have come to know that teaching and believe in it. May God grant +you this knowledge soon! Good-by." + I kissed his hand and left the room quietly. When I got to +the front door, I rushed to a lonely stone tower, and there sobbed +my heart out in the darkness like a child. Looking round at last, +I saw that some one else was sitting on the staircase near me, also +crying. + So I said farewell to my father years before his death, and +the memory of it is dear to me, for I know that if I had seen him +before his death at Astapova he would have said just the same to +me. + To return to the question of death, I will say that so far +from being afraid of it, in his last days he often desired it; he +was more interested in it than afraid of it. This "greatest of +mysteries" interested him to such a degree that his interest came +near to love. How eagerly he listened to accounts of the death of +his friends, Turgénieff, Gay, Leskóf,¹ +Zhemtchúzhnikof² and others! He inquired after the +smallest matters; no detail, however trifling in appearance, was +without its interest and importance to him. + + ¹A novelist, died 1895. + ²One of the authors of "Junker Schmidt." +<p 567> + His "Circle of Reading," November 7, the day he died, is +devoted entirely to thoughts on death. + "Life is a dream, death is an awakening," he wrote, while in +expectation of that awakening. + Apropos of the "Circle of Reading," I cannot refrain from +relating a characteristic incident which I was told by one of my +sisters. + When my father had made up his mind to compile that collection +of the sayings of the wise, to which he gave the name of "Circle +of Reading," he told one of his friends about it. + A few days afterward this friend came to see him again, and at +once told him that he and his wife had been thinking over his +scheme for the new book and had come to the conclusion that he +ought to call it "For Every Day," instead of "Circle of Reading." + To this my father replied that he preferred the title "Circle +of Reading" because the word "circle" suggested the idea of +continuous reading, which was what he meant to express by the +title. + Half an hour later the friend came across the room to him and +repeated exactly the same remark again. This time my father made +no reply. In the evening, when the friend was preparing to go +home, as he was saying good-by to my father, he held his hand in +his and began once more: + "Still, I must tell you, Lyoff Nikolaievich, that I and my +wife have been thinking it over, and we have come to the +conclusion," and so on, word for word the same. + "No, no, I want to die--to die as soon as possible," groaned +my father when he had seen the friend off. + "Isn't it all the same whether it's 'Circle of Reading' or +'For Every Day'? No, it's time for me to die: I cannot live like +this any longer." + And, after all, in the end, one of the editions of the sayings +of the wise was called "For Every Day" instead of "Circle of +Reading." + "Ah, my dear, ever since this Mr. ---- turned up, I really +don't know which of Lyoff Nikolaievich's writings are by Lyoff +Nikolaievich and which are by Mr. ----!" murmured our old friend, +the pure-hearted and far from malicious Márya +Alexandróvna Schmidt. + This sort of intrusion into my father's work as an author +bore, in the "friend's" language, the modest title of "corrections +beforehand," and there is no doubt that Márya +Alexandróvna was right, for no one will ever know where what +my father wrote ends and where his concessions to Mr. ----'s +persistent "corrections beforehand" begin, all the more as this +careful adviser had the forethought to arrange that when my father +answered his letters he was always to return him the letters they +were answers to.¹ + Besides the desire for death that my father displayed, in the +last years of his life he cherished another dream, which he made no +secret of his hope of realizing, and that was the desire to suffer +for his convictions. The first impulse in this direction was given +him by the persecution on the part of the authorities to which, +during his lifetime, many of his friends and fellow-thinkers were +subjected. + When he heard of any one being put in jail or deported for +disseminating his writings, he was so disturbed about it that one +was really sorry for him. I remember my arrival at Yásnaya +some days after Gúsef's arrest.² I stayed two days with +my father, and heard of nothing but Gúsef. As if there were +nobody in the world but Gúsef! I must confess that, sorry +as I was for Gúsef, who was shut up at the time in the local +prison at Krapivna, I harbored a most wicked feeling of resentment +at my father's paying so little attention to me and the rest of +those about him and being so absorbed in the thought of +Gúsef. + I willingly acknowledge that I was wrong in entertaining this +narrow-minded feeling. If I had entered fully into what my father +was feeling, I should have seen this at the time. + As far back as 1896, in consequence of the arrest of a doctor, +Miss N----, in Tula, my father wrote a long letter to Muravyof, the +Minister of Justice, in which he spoke of the "unreasonableness, +uselessness, and cruelty of the measures + + ¹The curious may be disposed to trace to some such +"corrections beforehand" the remarkable discrepancy of style and +matter which distinguishes some of Tolstoy's later works, published +after his death by Mr. Tchertkof and his literary executors. + ²Tolstoy's private secretary, arrested and banished in +1908. +<p 568> +taken by the Government against those who disseminate these +forbidden writings," and begged him to "direct the measures taken +to punish or intimidate the perpetrators of the evil, or to put an +end to it, against the man whom you regard as the real instigator +of it . . . all the more, as I assure you beforehand, that I shall +continue without ceasing till my death to do what the Government +considers evil and what I consider my sacred duty before God." + As every one knows, neither this challenge nor the others that +followed it led to any result, and the arrests and deportations of +those associated with him still went on. + My father felt himself morally responsible toward all those +who suffered on his account, and every year new burdens were laid +on his conscience. + + + MASHA'S DEATH + +As I reach the description of the last days of my father's life, I +must once more make it clear that what I write is based only on the +personal impressions I received in my periodical visits to +Yásnaya Polyána. + Unfortunately, I have no rich shorthand material to rely on, +such as Gúsef and Bulgákof had for their memoirs, and +more especially Dushán Petróvitch Makowicki, who is +preparing, I am told, a big and conscientious work, full of truth +and interest. + In November, 1906, my sister Masha died of inflammation of the +lungs. It is a curious thing that she vanished out of life with +just as little commotion as she had passed through it. Evidently +this is the lot of all the pure in heart. + No one was particularly astonished by her death. I remember +that when I received the telegram, I felt no surprise. It seemed +perfectly natural to me. Masha had married a kinsman of ours, +Prince Obolénski; she lived on her own estate at +Pirogóvo, twenty-one miles from us, and spent half the year +with her husband at Yásnaya. She was very delicate and had +constant illnesses. + When I arrived at Yásnaya the day after her death, I +was aware of an atmosphere of exaltation and prayerful emotion +about the whole family, and it was then I think for the first time +that I realized the full grandeur and beauty of death. + I definitely felt that by her death Masha, so far from having +gone away from us, had come nearer to us, and had been, as it were, +welded to us forever in a way that she never could have been during +her lifetime. + I observed the same frame of mind in my father. He went about +silent and woebegone, summoning all his strength to battle with his +own sorrow; but I never heard him utter a murmur of a complaint, +only words of tender emotion. When the coffin was carried to the +church he changed his clothes and went with the cortège. +When he reached the stone pillars he stopped us, said farewell to +the departed, and walked home along the avenue. I looked after him +and watched him walk away across the wet, thawing snow with his +short, quick old man's steps, turning his toes out at a sharp +angle, as he always did, and never once looking round. + My sister Masha had held a position of great importance in my +father's life and in the life of the whole family. Many a time in +the last few years have we had occasion to think of her and to +murmur sadly: "If only Masha had been with us! If only Masha had +not died!" + In order to explain the relations between Masha and my father +I must turn back a considerable way. There was one distinguishing +and, at first sight, peculiar trait in my father's character, due +perhaps to the fact that he grew up without a mother, and that was +that all exhibitions of tenderness were entirely foreign to him. + I say "tenderness" in contradistinction to heartiness. +Heartiness he had and in a very high degree. + His description of the death of my Uncle Nikolái is +characteristic in this connection. In a letter to his other +brother, Sergéi Nikoláyevitch, in which he described +the last day of his brother's life, my father tells how he helped +him to undress. + "He submitted, and became a different man. . . . He had a +word of praise for everybody, and said to me, 'Thanks, my friend.' +You understand the significance of the words as between us two." + It is evident that in the language of the Tolstoy brothers the +phrase "my friend" was an expression of tenderness beyond which +imagination could not go. The words astonished my father even on +the lips of his dying brother. <p 569> + During all his lifetime I never received any mark of +tenderness from him whatever. + He was not fond of kissing children, and when he did so in +saying good morning or good night, he did it merely as a duty. + It is therefore easy to understand that he did not provoke any +display of tenderness toward himself, and that nearness and +dearness with him were never accompanied by any outward +manifestations. + It would never have come into my head, for instance, to walk +up to my father and kiss him or to stroke his hand. I was partly +prevented also from that by the fact that I always looked up to him +with awe, and his spiritual power, his greatness, prevented me from +seeing in him the mere man--the man who was so plaintive and weary +at times, the feeble old man who so much needed warmth and rest. + The only person who could give him that warmth was Masha. + She would go up to him, stroke his hand, caress him, and say +something affectionate, and you could see that he liked it, was +happy, and even responded in kind. It was as if he became a +different man with her. Why was it that Masha was able to do this, +while no one else even dared to try? If any other of us had done +it, it would have seemed unnatural, but Masha could do it with +perfect simplicity and sincerity. + I do not mean to say that others about my father loved him +less than Masha; not at all; but the display of love for him was +never so warm and at the same time so natural with any one else as +with her. + So that with Masha's death my father was deprived of this +natural source of warmth, which, with advancing years, had become +more and more of a necessity for him. + Another and still greater power that she possessed was her +remarkably delicate and sensitive conscience. This trait in her +was still dearer to my father than her caresses. + How good she was at smoothing away all misunderstandings! How +she always stood up for those who were found any fault with, justly +or unjustly! It was all the same to her. Masha could reconcile +everybody and everything. + During the last years of his life my father's health +perceptibly grew worse. Several times he had the most sudden and +inexplicable sort of fainting fits, from which he used to recover +the next day, but completely lost his memory for a time. + Seeing my brother Andréi's children, who were staying +at Yásnaya, in the <i>zala</i> one day, he asked with some +surprise, "Whose children are these?" Meeting my wife, he said, +"Don't be offended, my dear; I know that I am very fond of you, but +I have quite forgotten who you are"; and when he went up to the +<i>zala</i> after one of these fainting fits, he looked round with +an astonished air and said, "Where's my brother Nítenka." +Nítenka had died fifty years before. + The day following all traces of the attack would disappear. + During one of these fainting fits my brother Sergéi, in +undressing my father, found a little note-book on him. He put it +in his own pocket, and next day, when he came to see my father, he +handed it back to him, telling him that he had not read it. + "There would have been no harm in <i>your</i> seeing it," said +my father, as he took it back. + This little diary in which he wrote down his most secret +thoughts and prayers was kept "for himself alone," and he never +showed it to any one. I saw it after my father's death. It is +impossible to read it without tears. + It is curious that the sudden decay of my father's memory +displayed itself only in the matter of real facts and people. He +was entirely unaffected in his literary work, and everything that +he wrote down to the last days of his life is marked by his +characteristic logicalness and force. It may be that the reason he +forgot the details of real life was because he was too deeply +absorbed in his abstract work. + My wife was at Yásnaya Polyána in October, and +when she came home she told me that there was something wrong +there. "Your mother is nervous and hysterical; your father is in +a silent and gloomy frame of mind." + I was very busy with my office work, but made up my mind to +devote my first free day to going and seeing my father and mother. + When I got to Yásnaya, my father had already left it. +<p 570> + I paid Aunt Masha a visit some little time after my father's +funeral. We sat together in her comfortable little cell, and she +repeated to me once more in detail the oft-repeated story of my +father's last visit to her. + "He sat in that very arm-chair where you are sitting now, and +how he cried!" she said. + "When Sasha arrived with her girl friend, they set to work +studying this map of Russia and planning out a route to the +Caucasus. Lyovótchka sat there thoughtful and melancholy. + "'Never mind, Papa; it'll be all right,' said Sasha, trying to +encourage him. + "'Ah, you women, you women!' answered her father, bitterly. +'How can it ever be all right?' + "I so much hoped that he would settle down here; it would just +have suited him. And it was his own idea, too; he had even taken +a cottage in the village," Aunt Masha sadly recalled. + "When he left me to go back to the hotel where he was staying, +it seemed to me that he was rather calmer. + "When he said good-by, he even made some joke about his having +come to the wrong door. + "I certainly would never have imagined that he would go away +again that same night." + It was a grievous trial for Aunt Masha when the old confessor +Iosif, who was her spiritual director, forbade her to pray for her +dead brother because he had been excommunicated. She was too +broad-minded to be able to reconcile herself to the harsh +intolerance of the church, and for a time she was honestly +indignant. Another priest to whom she applied also refused her +request. + Márya Nikoláyevna could not bring herself to +disobey her spiritual fathers, but at the same time she felt that +she was not really obeying their injunction, for she prayed for him +all the same, in thought, if not in words. + There is no knowing how her internal discord would have ended +if her father confessor, evidently understanding the moral torment +she was suffering, had not given her permission to pray for her +brother, but only in her cell and in solitude, so as not to lead +others astray. + + + MY FATHER'S WILL. CONCLUSION + +ALTHOUGH my father had long since renounced the copyright in all +his works written after 1883, and although, after having made all +his real estate over to his children, he had, as a matter of fact, +no property left, still he could not but be aware that his life was +far from corresponding to his principles, and this consciousness +perpetually preyed upon his mind. One has only to read some of his +posthumous works attentively to see that the idea of leaving home +and radically altering his whole way of life had presented itself +to him long since and was a continual temptation to him. + This was the cherished dream that always allured him, but +which he did not think himself justified in putting into practice. + The life of the Christian must be a "reasonable and happy life +<i>in all possible circumstances,"</i> he used to say as he +struggled with the temptation to go away, and gave up his own soul +for others. + I remember reading in Gúsef's memoirs how my father +once, in conversation with Gusoryóf, the peasant, who had +made up his mind to leave his home for religious reasons, said, "My +life is a hundred thousand times more loathsome than yours, but yet +I cannot leave it." + I shall not enumerate all the letters of abuse and amazement +which my father received from all sides, upbraiding him with +luxury, with inconsistency, and even with torturing his peasants. +It is easy to imagine what an impression they made on him. + He said there was good reason to revile him; he called their +abuse "a bath for the soul," but internally he suffered from the +"bath," and saw no way out of his difficulties. He bore his cross, +and it was in this self-renunciation that his power consisted, +though many either could not or would not understand it. He alone, +despite all those about him, knew that this cross was laid on him +not of man, but of God; and while he was strong, he loved his +burden and shared it with none. + Just as thirty years before he had been haunted by the +temptation to suicide, so now he struggled with a new and more +powerful temptation, that of flight. + A few days before he left Yásnaya he <p 571> called on +Márya Alexandróvna Schmidt at Ovsyanniki and +confessed to her that he wanted to go away. + The old lady held up her hands in horror and said: + "Gracious Heavens, Lyoff Nikolaievich, have you come to such +a pitch of weakness?" + When I learned, on October 28, 1910, that my father had left +Yásnaya, the same idea occurred to me, and I even put it +into words in a letter I sent to him at Shamerdino by my sister +Sasha. + I did not know at the time about certain circumstances which +have since made a great deal clear to me that was obscure before. + From the moment of my father's death till now I have been +racking my brains to discover what could have given him the impulse +to take that last step. What power could compel him to yield in +the struggle in which he had held firmly and tenaciously for many +years? What was the last drop, the last grain of sand that turned +the scales, and sent him forth to search for a new life on the very +edge of the grave? + Could he really have fled from home because the wife that he +had lived with for forty-eight years had developed neurasthenia and +at one time showed certain abnormalities characteristic of that +malady? Was that like the man who so loved his fellows and so well +knew the human heart? Or did he suddenly desire, when he was +eighty-three, and weak and helpless, to realize the idea of a +pilgrim's life? + If so, why did he take my sister Sasha and Dr. Makowicki with +him? He could not but know that in their company he would be just +as well provided with all the necessaries of life as he would have +been at Yásnaya Polyána. It would have been the most +palpable self-deception. + Knowing my father as I did, I felt that the question of his +flight was not so simple as it seemed to others, and the problem +lay long unsolved before me until it was suddenly made clear by the +will that he left behind him. + I remember how, after N. S. Leskóf's death, my father +read me his posthumous instructions with regard to a pauper +funeral, with no speeches at the grave, and so on, and how the +idea of writing his own will then came into his head for the +first time. + His first will was written in his diary, on March 27, +1895.¹ + The fourth paragraph, to which I wish to call particular +attention, contains a request to his next of kin to transfer the +right of publishing his writings to society at large, or, in other +words, to renounce the copyright of them. + "But I only request it, and do not direct it. It is a good +thing to do. And it will be good for you to do it; but if you do +not do it, that is your affair. It means that you are not yet +ready to do it. The fact that my writings have been bought and +sold during these last ten years has been the most painful thing in +my whole life to me." + Three copies were made of this will, and they were kept by my +sister Masha, my brother Sergéi, and Tchertkof. + I knew of its existence, but I never saw it till after my +father's death, and I never inquired of anybody about the details. + I knew my father's views about copyright, and no will of his +could have added anything to what I knew. I knew, moreover, that +this will was not properly executed according to the forms of law, +and personally I was glad of that, for I saw in it another proof of +my father's confidence in his family. I need hardly add that I +never doubted that my father's wishes would be carried out. + My sister Masha, with whom I once had a conversation on the +subject, was of the same opinion. + In 1909 my father stayed with Mr. Tchertkof at Krekshin, and +there for the first time he wrote a formal will, attested by the +signature of witnesses. How this will came to be written I do not +know, and I do not intend to discuss it. It afterward appeared +that it also was imperfect from a legal point of view, and in +October, 1909, it had all to be done again. + As to the writing of the third we are fully informed by Mr. F. +Strakhof in an article which he published in the St. Petersburg +"Gazette" on November 6, 1911. + Mr. Strakhof left Moscow at night. He had calculated on +Sófya Andréyevna,¹ whose presence at +Yásnaya Polyána was highly inexpedient for the +business on + + ¹Five weeks after Leskóf's death. + ²The Countess Tolstoy. +<p 572> +which he was bound, being still in Moscow. + The business in question, as was made clear in the preliminary +consultation which V. G. Tchertkof held with N. K. Muravyof, the +solicitor, consisted in getting fresh signatures from Lyoff +Nikolaievich, whose great age made it desirable to make sure, +without delay, of his wishes being carried out by means of a more +unassailable legal document. Strakhof brought the draft of the +will with him, and laid it before Lyoff Nikolaievich. After +reading the paper through, he at once wrote under it that he agreed +with its purport, and then added, after a pause: + "All this business is very disagreeable to me, and it is +unnecessary. To insure the propagation of my ideas by taking all +sorts of measures--why, no word can perish without leaving its +trace, if it expresses a truth, and if the man who utters it +believes profoundly in its truth. But all these outward means for +insuring it only come of our disbelief in what we utter." + And with these words Lyoff Nikolaievich left the study. + Thereupon Mr. Strakhof began to consider what he must do next, +whether he should go back with empty hands, or whether he should +argue it out. + He decided to argue it out, and endeavored to explain to my +father how painful it would be for his friends after his death to +hear people blaming him for not having taken any steps, despite his +strong opinion on the subject, to see that his wishes were carried +out, and for having thereby helped to transfer his copyrights to +the members of his family. + Tolstoy promised to think it over, and left the room again. + At dinner Sófya Andréyevna "was evidently far +from having any suspicions." When Tolstoy was not by, however, she +asked Mr. Strakhof what he had come down about. Inasmuch as Mr. +Strakhof had other affairs in hand besides the will, he told her +about one thing and another with an easy conscience. + Mr. Strakhof described a second visit to Yásnaya, when +he came to attest the same will as a witness. + When he arrived, he said: "The countess had not yet come down. +I breathed again." + Of his departure, he said: + + As I said good-by to Sófya Andréyevna, I +examined her countenance attentively. Such complete tranquillity +and cordiality toward her departing guests were written on it that +I had not the smallest doubt of her complete ignorance of what was +going on. . . . I left the house with the pleasing consciousness +of a work well done--a work that was destined to have a +considerable historic consequence. I only felt some little twinge +within, certain qualms of conscience about the conspiratorial +character of the transaction. + + But even this text of the will did not quite satisfy my +father's "friends and advisers"; it was redrafted for the fourth +and last time in July, 1910. + This last draft was written by my father himself in the +Limonovski Forest, two miles from the house, not far from Mr. +Tchertkof's estate. + Such is the melancholy history of this document, which was +destined to have historic consequences. "All this business is very +disagreeable to me, and it is unnecessary," my father said when he +signed the paper that was thrust before him. That was his real +opinion about his will, and it never altered to the end of his +days. + Is there any need of proof for that? I think one need know +very little of his convictions to have no doubt about it. + Was Lyoff Nikolaievich Tolstoy likely of his own accord to +have recourse to the protection of the law? And, if he did, was +he likely to conceal it from his wife and children? + He had been put into a position from which there was +absolutely no way out. To tell his wife was out of the question; +it would have grievously offended his friends. To have destroyed +the will would have been worse still; for his friends had suffered +for his principles morally, and some of them materially, and had +been exiled from Russia. He felt himself bound to them. + And on the top of all this were his fainting fits, his +increasing loss of memory, the clear consciousness of the approach +of death, and the continually growing nervousness of his wife, who +felt in her heart of hearts the unnatural estrangement of her +husband, and could not understand it. If she asked him what it was +that he was concealing from her, he would <p 573> either have to +say nothing or to tell her the truth. But that was impossible. + So it came about that the long-cherished dream of leaving +Yásnaya Polyána presented itself as the only means of +escape. It was certainly not in order to enjoy the full +realization of his dream that he left his home; he went away only +as a choice of evils. + "I am too feeble and too old to begin a new life," he had said +to my brother Sergéi only a few days before his departure. + Harassed, ill in body and in mind, he started forth without +any object in view, without any thought-out plan, merely in order +to hide himself somewhere, wherever it might be, and get some rest +from the moral tortures which had become insupportable to him. + "To fly, to fly!" he said in his deathbed delirium as he lay +at Astapova. + "Has papa considered that mama may not survive the separation +from him?" I asked my sister Sasha on October 29, when she was on +the point of going to join him at Shamerdino. + "Yes, he has considered all that, and still made up his mind +to go, because he thinks that nothing could be worse than the state +that things have come to here," she answered. + I confess that my explanation of my father's flight by no +means exhausts the question. Life is complex and every explanation +of a man's conduct is bound to suffer from one-sidedness. Besides, +there are circumstances of which I do not care to speak at the +present moment, in order not to cause unnecessary pain to people +still living. It may be that if those who were about my father +during the last years of his life had known what they were doing, +things would have turned out differently. + The years will pass. The accumulated incrustations which hide +the truth will pass away. Much will be wiped out and forgotten. +Among other things my father's will will be forgotten--that will +which he himself looked upon as an "unnecessary outward means." +And men will see more clearly that legacy of love and truth in +which he believed deeply, and which, according to his own words, +"cannot perish without a trace." + In conclusion I cannot refrain from quoting the opinion of one +of my kinsmen, who, after my father's death, read the diaries kept +both by my father and my mother during the autumn before Lyoff +Nikolaievich left Yásnaya Polyána. + "What a terrible misunderstanding!" he said. "Each loved the +other with such poignant affection, each was suffering all the time +on the other's behalf, and then this terrible ending! . . . I see +the hand of fate in this." + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext of Reminiscences of Tolstoy + diff --git a/old/rtlst09.zip b/old/rtlst09.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f1fce85 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/rtlst09.zip diff --git a/old/rtlst10.txt b/old/rtlst10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fbb3576 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/rtlst10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3517 @@ +*****The Project Gutenberg Etext of Reminiscences of Tolstoy**** + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. We need your donations. + + +Reminiscences of Tolstoy + +by Ilya Tolstoy [his son] + +February, 1997 [Etext #813] + + +*****The Project Gutenberg Etext of Reminiscences of Tolstoy**** +*****This file should be named rtlst10.txt or rtlst0.zip****** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, rtlst11.txt. +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, rtlst10a.txt. + + +This etext was created by Judith Boss, Omaha, Nebraska. + + +We are now trying to release all our books one month in advance +of the official release dates, for time for better editing. + +Please note: neither this list nor its contents are final till +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A +preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment +and editing by those who wish to do so. To be sure you have an +up to date first edition [xxxxx10x.xxx] please check file sizes +in the first week of the next month. Since our ftp program has +a bug in it that scrambles the date [tried to fix and failed] a +look at the file size will have to do, but we will try to see a +new copy has at least one byte more or less. + + +Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) + +We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The +fifty hours is one conservative estimate for how long it we take +to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright +searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. This +projected audience is one hundred million readers. If our value +per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 +million dollars per hour this year as we release thirty-two text +files per month: or 400 more Etexts in 1996 for a total of 800. +If these reach just 10% of the computerized population, then the +total should reach 80 billion Etexts. We will try add 800 more, +during 1997, but it will take all the effort we can manage to do +the doubling of our library again this year, what with the other +massive requirements it is going to take to get incorporated and +establish something that will have some permanence. + +The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext +Files by the December 31, 2001. [10,000 x 100,000,000=Trillion] +This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, +which is only 10% of the present number of computer users. 2001 +should have at least twice as many computer users as that, so it +will require us reaching less than 5% of the users in 2001. + + +We need your donations more than ever! + + +All donations should be made to "Project Gutenberg" + + +For these and other matters, please mail to: + +Project Gutenberg +P. O. Box 2782 +Champaign, IL 61825 + +When all other email fails try our Executive Director: +Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com> + +We would prefer to send you this information by email +(Internet, Bitnet, Compuserve, ATTMAIL or MCImail). + +****** +If you have an FTP program (or emulator), please +FTP directly to the Project Gutenberg archives: +[Mac users, do NOT point and click. . .type] + +ftp uiarchive.cso.uiuc.edu +login: anonymous +password: your@login +cd etext/etext90 through /etext97 +or cd etext/articles [get suggest gut for more information] +dir [to see files] +get or mget [to get files. . .set bin for zip files] +GET INDEX?00.GUT +for a list of books +and +GET NEW GUT for general information +and +MGET GUT* for newsletters. + +**Information prepared by the Project Gutenberg legal advisor** +(Three Pages) + + +***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START*** +Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. +They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with +your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from +someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our +fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement +disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how +you can distribute copies of this etext if you want to. + +*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT +By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept +this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive +a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by +sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person +you got it from. If you received this etext on a physical +medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. + +ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS +This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG- +tm etexts, is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor +Michael S. Hart through the Project Gutenberg (the "Project"). +Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States +copyright on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy +and distribute it in the United States without permission and +without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth +below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext +under the Project's "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. + +To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable +efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain +works. Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any +medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other +things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged +disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer +codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. + +LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES +But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, +[1] the Project (and any other party you may receive this +etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including +legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR +UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, +INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE +OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE +POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. + +If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of +receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) +you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that +time to the person you received it from. If you received it +on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and +such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement +copy. If you received it electronically, such person may +choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to +receive it electronically. + +THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS +TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A +PARTICULAR PURPOSE. + +Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or +the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the +above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you +may have other legal rights. + +INDEMNITY +You will indemnify and hold the Project, its directors, +officers, members and agents harmless from all liability, cost +and expense, including legal fees, that arise directly or +indirectly from any of the following that you do or cause: +[1] distribution of this etext, [2] alteration, modification, +or addition to the etext, or [3] any Defect. + +DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" +You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by +disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this +"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, +or: + +[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this + requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the + etext or this "small print!" statement. You may however, + if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable + binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, + including any form resulting from conversion by word pro- + cessing or hypertext software, but only so long as + *EITHER*: + + [*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and + does *not* contain characters other than those + intended by the author of the work, although tilde + (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may + be used to convey punctuation intended by the + author, and additional characters may be used to + indicate hypertext links; OR + + [*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at + no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent + form by the program that displays the etext (as is + the case, for instance, with most word processors); + OR + + [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at + no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the + etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC + or other equivalent proprietary form). + +[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this + "Small Print!" statement. + +[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the + net profits you derive calculated using the method you + already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Association within the 60 + days following each date you prepare (or were legally + required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent periodic) + tax return. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, +scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty +free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution +you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg +Association". + +*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + +This etext was created by Judith Boss, Omaha, Nebraska. + + + + + +Reminiscences of Tolstoy +by His Son, Count Ilya Tolstoy + + + + + + REMINISCENCES OF TOLSTOY + + BY HIS SON, COUNT ILYA TOLSTOY + + TRANSLATED BY GEORGE CALDERON + + + +IN one of his letters to his great-aunt, Alexandra +Andreyevna Tolstoy, my father gives the following +description of his children: + + +The eldest [Sergei] is fair-haired and good-looking; +there is something weak and patient in his expression, and very +gentle. His laugh is not infectious; but when he cries, I can +hardly refrain from crying, too. Every one says he is like my +eldest brother. + +I am afraid to believe it. It is too good to be true. My +brother's chief characteristic was neither egotism nor self- +renunciation, but a strict mean between the two. He never +sacrificed himself for any one else; but not only always avoided +injuring others, but also interfering with them. He kept his +happiness and his sufferings entirely to himself. + +Ilya, the third, has never been ill in his life; +broad-boned, white and pink, radiant, bad at lessons. Is always +thinking about what he is told not to think about. Invents his +own games. Hot-tempered and violent, wants to fight at once; but +is also tender-hearted and very sensitive. Sensuous; fond of +eating and lying still doing nothing. + +Tanya [Tatyana] is eight years old. Every one +says that she is like Sonya, and I believe them, although I am +pleased about that, too; I believe it only because it is obvious. +If she had been Adam's eldest daughter and he had had no other +children afterward, she would have passed a wretched childhood. +The greatest pleasure that she has is to look after children. + +The fourth is Lyoff. Handsome, dexterous, good memory, +graceful. Any clothes fit him as if they had been made for him. +Everything that others do, he does very skilfully and well. Does +not understand much yet. + +The fifth, Masha [Mary] is two years old, the one whose +birth nearly cost Sonya her life. A weak and sickly child. Body +white as milk, curly white hair; big, queer blue eyes, queer by +reason of their deep, serious expression. Very intelligent and +ugly. She will be one of the riddles; she will suffer, she will +seek and find nothing, will always be seeking what is least +attainable. + +The sixth, Peter, is a giant, a huge, delightful baby in a +mob-cap, turns out his elbows, strives eagerly after something. +My wife falls into an ecstasy of agitation and emotion when she +holds him in her arms; but I am completely at a loss to +understand. I know that he has a great store of physical energy, +but whether there is any purpose for which the store is wanted I +do not know. That is why I do not care for children under two or +three; I don't understand. + + +This letter was written in 1872, when I was six years old. +My recollections date from about that time. I can remember a few +things before. + + + + FAMILY LIFE IN THE COUNTRY + +FROM my earliest childhood until the family moved into Moscow-- +that was in 1881--all my life was spent, almost without a +break, at Yasnaya Polyana. + +This is how we live. The chief personage in the house is my +mother. She settles everything. She interviews Nikolai, +the cook, and orders dinner; she sends us out for walks, makes +our shirts, is always nursing some baby at the breast; all day +long she is bustling about the house with hurried steps. One can +be naughty with her, though she is sometimes angry and punishes +us. + +She knows more about everything than anybody else. She +knows that one must wash every day, that one must eat soup at +dinner, that one must talk French, learn not to crawl about on +all fours, not to put one's elbows on the table; and if she says +that one is not to go out walking because it is just going to +rain, she is sure to be right, and one must do as she says. + +Papa is the cleverest man in the world. He always knows +everything. There is no being naughty with HIM. When he +is up in his study "working," one is not allowed to make a noise, +and nobody may go into his room. What he does when he is at +"work," none of us know. Later on, when I had learned to read, I +was told that papa was a "writer." + +This was how I learned. I was very pleased with some lines +of poetry one day, and asked my mother who wrote them. She told +me they were written by Pushkin, and Pushkin was a great writer. +I was vexed at my father not being one, too. Then my mother said +that my father was also a well-known writer, and I was very glad +indeed. + +At the dinner-table papa sits opposite mama and has his own +round silver spoon. When old Natalia Petrovna, who +lives on the floor below with great-aunt Tatyana +Alexandrovna, pours herself out a glass of kvass, he picks +it up and drinks it right off, then says, "Oh, I'm so sorry, +Natalia Petrovna; I made a mistake!" We all laugh +delightedly, and it seems odd that papa is not in the least +afraid of Natalia Petrovna. When there is jelly +for pudding, papa says it is good for gluing paper boxes; we run +off to get some paper, and papa makes it into boxes. Mama is +angry, but he is not afraid of her either. We have the gayest +times imaginable with him now and then. He can ride a horse +better and run faster than anybody else, and there is no one in +the world so strong as he is. + +He hardly ever punishes us, but when he looks me in the eyes +he knows everything that I think, and I am frightened. You can +tell stories to mama, but not to papa, because he will see +through you at once. So nobody ever tries. + +Besides papa and mama, there was also Aunt Tatyana +Alexandrovna Yergolsky. In her room she had a big eikon +with a silver mount. We were very much afraid of this eikon, +because it was very old and black. + +When I was six, I remember my father teaching the village +children. They had their lessons in "the other house," [1] +where Alexey Stepanytch, the bailiff, lived, and sometimes +on the ground floor of the house we lived in. + +[1] The name we gave to the stone annex. + + +There were a great number of village children who used to +come. When they came, the front hall smelled of sheepskin +jackets; they were taught by papa and Seryozha and +Tanya and Uncle Kostya all at once. Lesson-time +was very gay and lively. + +The children did exactly as they pleased, sat where they +liked, ran about from place to place, and answered questions not +one by one, but all together, interrupting one another, and +helping one another to recall what they had read. If one left +out a bit, up jumped another and then another, and the story or +sum was reconstructed by the united efforts of the whole class. + +What pleased my father most about his pupils was the +picturesqueness and originality of their language. He never +wanted a literal repetition of bookish expressions, and +particularly encouraged every one to speak "out of his own head." +I remember how once he stopped a boy who was running into the +next room. + +"Where are YOU off to?" he asked. + +"To uncle, to bite off a piece of chalk." [2] + +[2] The instinct for lime, necessary to feed their bones, +drives Russian children to nibble pieces of chalk or the +whitewash off the wall. In this case the boy was running to one +of the grown-ups in the house, and whom he called uncle, as +Russian children call everybody uncle or aunt, to get a piece of +the chalk that he had for writing on the blackboard. +us," he said to some one when the boy was gone. Which of us +would have expressed himself like that? You see, he did not say +to "get" or to "break off," but to "bite off," which was right, +because they did literally "bite" off the chalk from the lump +with their teeth, and not break it off. + + +"Cut along, cut along! It's not for us to teach them, but +for them to teach + + + + + THE SERVANTS IN THE HOUSE + +WHEN my father married and brought home his young and +inexperienced bride, Sofya Andreyevna, to +Yasnaya Polyana, Nikolai +Mikhailovitch Rumyantsef was already established as +cook. Before my father's marriage he had a salary of five rubles +a month; but when my mother arrived, she raised him to six, at +which rate he continued the rest of his days; that is, till +somewhere about the end of the eighties. He was succeeded in the +kitchen by his son, Semyon Nikolayevitch, my mother's +godson, and this worthy and beloved man, companion of my childish +games, still lives with us to this day. Under my mother's +supervision he prepared my father's vegetarian diet with +affectionate zeal, and without him my father would very likely +never have lived to the ripe old age he did. + +Agafya Mikhailovna was an old woman who lived +at first in the kitchen of "the other house" and afterward on the +home farm. Tall and thin, with big, thoroughbred eyes, and long, +straight hair, like a witch, turning gray, she was rather +terrifying, but more than anything else she was queer. + +Once upon a time long ago she had been housemaid to my +great-grandmother, Countess Pelageya Nikolayevna +Tolstoy, my father's grandmother, nee Princess +Gortchakova. She was fond of telling about her young +days. She would say: + + +I was very handsome. When there were gentlefolks visiting +at the big house, the countess would call me, 'Gachette +[Agafya], femme de chambre, apportez-moi un mouchoir!' +Then I would say, 'Toute suite, Madame la Comtesse!' And +every one would be staring at me, and couldn't take their eyes +off. When I crossed over to the annex, there they were watching +to catch me on the way. Many a time have I tricked them--ran +round the other way and jumped over the ditch. I never liked +that sort of thing any time. A maid I was, a maid I am. + + +After my grandmother's death, Agafya +Mikhailovna was sent on to the home farm for some reason +or other, and minded the sheep. She got so fond of sheep that +all her days after she never would touch mutton. + +After the sheep, she had an affection for dogs, and that is +the only period of her life that I remember her in. + +There was nothing in the world she cared about but dogs. +She lived with them in horrible dirt and smells, and gave up her +whole mind and soul to them. We always had setters, harriers, +and borzois, and the whole kennel, often very numerous, +was under Agafya Mikhailovna's management, with +some boy or other to help her, usually one as clumsy and stupid +as could be found. + +There are many interesting recollections bound up with the +memory of this intelligent and original woman. Most of them are +associated in my mind with my father's stories about her. He +could always catch and unravel any interesting psychological +trait, and these traits, which he would mention incidentally, +stuck firmly in my mind. He used to tell, for instance, how +Agafya Mikhailovna complained to him of +sleeplessness. + +"Ever since I can remember her, she has suffered from 'a +birch-tree growing inside me from my belly up; it presses against +my chest, and prevents my breathing.' + +"She complains of her sleeplessness and the birch-tree and +says: 'There I lay all alone and all quiet, only the clock +ticking on the wall: "Who are you? What are you? Who are you? +What are you?" And I began to think: "Who am I? What am I?" and +so I spent the whole night thinking about it.' + +"Why, imagine this is Socrates! 'Know thyself,'" said my +father, telling the story with great enthusiasm. + +In the summer-time my mother's brother, Styopa +(Stephen Behrs), who was studying at the time in the school of +jurisprudence, used to come and stay with us. In the autumn he +used to go wolf-hunting with my father and us, with the +borzois, and Agafya Mikhailovna loved him +for that. + +Styopa's examination was in the spring. +Agafya Mikhailovna knew about it and anxiously +waited for the news of whether he had got through. + +Once she put up a candle before the eikon and prayed that +Styopa might pass. But at that moment she remembered that +her borzois had got out and had not come back to the +kennels again. + +"Saints in heaven! they'll get into some place and worry the +cattle and do a mischief!" she cried. "'Lord, let my candle burn +for the dogs to come back quick, and I'll buy another for Stepan +Andreyevitch.' No sooner had I said this to myself than I +heard the dogs in the porch rattling their collars. Thank God! +they were back. That's what prayer can do." + +Another favorite of Agafya Mikhailovna was a +young man, Misha Stakhovitch, who often stayed with +us. + +"See what you have been and done to me, little Countess!" +she said reproachfully to my sister Tanya: "you've +introduced me to Mikhail Alexandrovitch, and I've fallen in love +with him in my old age, like a wicked woman!" + +On the fifth of February, her name-day, Agafya +Mikhailovna received a telegram of congratulation from +Stakhovitch. + +When my father heard of it, he said jokingly to +Agafya Mikhailovna: + +"Aren't you ashamed that a man had to trudge two miles +through the frost at night all for the sake of your telegram?" + +"Trudge, trudge? Angels bore him on their wings. Trudge, +indeed! You get three telegrams from an outlandish Jew woman," +she growled, "and telegrams every day about your Golokhvotika. +Never a trudge then; but I get name-day greetings, and it's +trudge!" + +And one could not but acknowledge that she was right. This +telegram, the only one in the whole year that was addressed to +the kennels, by the pleasure it gave Agafya +Mikhailovna was far more important of course than this +news or the about a ball given in Moscow in honor of a Jewish +banker's daughter, or about Olga Andreyevna +Golokvastovy's arrival at Yasnaya. + +Agafya Mikhailovna died at the beginning of +the nineties. There were no more hounds or sporting dogs at +Yasnaya then, but till the end of her days she gave +shelter to a motley collection of mongrels, and tended and fed +them. + + + THE HOME OF THE TOLSTOYS + +I CAN remember the house at Yasnaya Polyana in the +condition it was in the first years after my father's marriage. + +It was one of the two-storied wings of the old mansion-house +of the Princes Volkonsky, which my father had sold for +pulling down when he was still a bachelor. + +From what my father has told me, I know that the house in +which he was born and spent his youth was a three-storied +building with thirty-six rooms. On the spot where it stood, +between the two wings, the remains of the old stone foundation +are still visible in the form of trenches filled with rubble, and +the site is covered with big sixty-year-old trees that my father +himself planted. + +When any one asked my father where he was born, he used to +point to a tall larch which grew on the site of the old +foundations. + +"Up there where the top of that larch waves," he used to +say; "that's where my mother's room was, where I was born on a +leather sofa." + +My father seldom spoke of his mother, but when he did, it +was delightful to hear him, because the mention of her awoke an +unusual strain of gentleness and tenderness in him. There was +such a ring of respectful affection, so much reverence for her +memory, in his words, that we all looked on her as a sort of +saint. + +My father remembered his father well, because he was already +nine years old when he died. He loved him, too, and always spoke +of him reverently; but one always felt that his mother's memory, +although he had never known her, was dearer to him, and his love +for her far greater than for his father. + +Even to this day I do not exactly know the story of the sale +of the old house. My father never liked talking about it, and +for that reason I could never make up my mind to ask him the +details of the transaction. I only know that the house was sold +for five thousand paper rubles [3] by one of his relatives, who +had charge of his affairs by power of attorney when he was in the +Caucasus. + + [3] About $3000. + +It was said to have been done in order to pay off my father's +gambling debts. That was quite true. + +My father himself told me that at one time he was a great +card-player, that he lost large sums of money, and that his +financial affairs were considerably embarrassed. + +The only thing about which I am in doubt is whether it was +with my father's knowledge or by his directions that the house +was sold, or whether the relative in question did not exceed his +instructions and decide on the sale of his own initiative. + +My father cherished his parents' memory to such an extent, +and had such a warm affection for everything relating to his own +childhood, that it is hard to believe that he would have raised +his hand against the house in which he had been born and brought +up and in which his mother had spent her whole life. + +Knowing my father as I do, I think it is highly possible +that he wrote to his relative from the Caucasus, "Sell +something," not in the least expecting that he would sell the +house, and that he afterward took the blame for it on himself. +Is that not the reason why he was always so unwilling to talk +about it? + +In 1871, when I was five years old, the zala [4] +and study were built on the house. + +[4] The zala is the chief room of a house, +corresponding to the English drawing-room, but on a grand scale. +The gostinaya--literally guest-room, usually translated as +drawing-room--is a place for more intimate receptions. At +Yasnaya Polyana meals were taken in the +zala, but this is not the general Russian custom, houses +being provided also with a stolovaya, or dining- +room. + + +The walls of the zala were hung with old portraits of +ancestors. They were rather alarming, and I was afraid of them +at first; but we got used to them after a time, and I grew fond +of one of them, of my great-grandfather, Ilya +Andreyevitch Tolstoy, because I was told that I was like +him. + +Beside him hung the portrait of another great-grandfather, +Prince Nikolai Sergeyevitch Volkonsky, my +grandmother's father, with thick, black eyebrows, a gray wig, and +a red kaftan. [5] + +[5]; Kaftan, a long coat of various cuts, including +military and naval frock-coat, and the long gown worn by +coachmen. + + +This Volkonsky built all the buildings of +Yasnaya Polyana. He was a model squire, +intelligent and proud, and enjoyed the great respect of all the +neighborhood. + +On the ground floor, under the drawing-room, next to the +entrance-hall, my father built his study. He had a semi-circular +niche made in the wall, and stood a marble bust of his favorite +dead brother Nikolai in it. This bust was made abroad +from a death-mask, and my father told us that it was very like, +because it was done by a good sculptor, according to his own +directions. + +He had a kind and rather plaintive face. The hair was +brushed smooth like a child's, with the parting on one side. He +had no beard or mustache, and his head was white and very, very +clean. My father's study was divided in two by a partition of +big bookshelves, containing a multitude of all sorts of books. +In order to support them, the shelves were connected by big +wooden beams, and between them was a thin birch-wood door, behind +which stood my father's writing-table and his old-fashioned +semicircular arm-chair. + +There are portraits of Dickens and Schopenhauer and +Fet [6] as a young man on the walls, too, and the well-known +group of writers of the Sovremennik [7] circle in 1856, +with Turgenieff, Ostrovsky, Gontcharof, +Grigorovitch, Druzhinin, and my father, quite young +still, without a beard, and in uniform. + +[6] Afanasyi Shenshin, the poet, who adopted +his mother's name, Fet, for a time, owing to official +difficulties about his birth-certificate. An intimate friend of +Tolstoy's. + +[7] "Sovremennik," or "Contemporary Review," +edited by the poet Mekrasof, was the rallying-place for the "men +of the forties," the new school of realists. Ostrovsky is +the dramatist; Gontcharof the novelist, author of +"Oblomof"; Grigorovitch wrote tales about peasant +life, and was the discoverer of Tchekhof's talent as a +serious writer. + + +My father used to come out of his bedroom of a morning--it +was in a corner on the top floor--in his dressing-gown, with his +beard uncombed and tumbled together, and go down to dress. + +Soon after he would issue from his study fresh and vigorous, +in a gray smock-frock, and would go up into the zala for +breakfast. That was our dejeuner. + +When there was nobody staying in the house, he would not +stop long in the drawing-room, but would take his tumbler of tea +and carry it off to his study with him. + +But if there were friends and guests +with us, he would get into conversation, become interested, and +could not tear himself away. + +At last he would go off to his work, and we would disperse, +in winter to the different school-rooms, in summer to the +croquet-lawn or somewhere about the garden. My mother would +settle down in the drawing-room to make some garment for the +babies, or to copy out something she had not finished overnight; +and till three or four in the afternoon silence would reign in +the house. + +Then my father would come out of his study and go off for +his afternoon's exercise. Sometimes he would take a dog and a +gun, sometimes ride, and sometimes merely go for a walk to the +imperial wood. + +At five the big bell that hung on the broken bough of an old +elm-tree in front of the house would ring and we would all run to +wash our hands and collect for dinner. + +He was very hungry, and ate voraciously of whatever turned +up. My mother would try to stop him, would tell him not to waste +all his appetite on kasha, because there were chops and +vegetables to follow. "You'll have a bad liver again," she would +say; but he would pay no attention to her, and would ask for more +and more, until his hunger was completely satisfied. Then he +would tell us all about his walk, where he put up a covey of +black game, what new paths he discovered in the imperial wood +beyond Kudeyarof Well, or, if he rode, how the young horse he was +breaking in began to understand the reins and the pressure of the +leg. All this he would relate in the most vivid and entertaining +way, so that the time passed gaily and animatedly. + +After dinner he would go back to his room to read, and at +eight we had tea, and the best hours of the day began--the +evening hours, when everybody gathered in the zala. The +grown-ups talked or read aloud or played the piano, and we either +listened to them or had some jolly game of our own, and in +anxious fear awaited the moment when the English +grandfather-clock on the landing would give a click and a buzz, +and slowly and clearly ring out ten. + +Perhaps mama would not notice? She was in the sitting-room, +making a copy. + +"Come, children, bedtime! Say good night," she would call. + +"In a minute, Mama; just five minutes." + +"Run along; it's high time; or there will be no getting you +up in the morning to do your lessons." + +We would say a lingering good night, on the lookout for any +chance for delay, and at last would go down-stairs through the +arches, annoyed at the thought that we were children still and +had to go to bed while the grown-ups could stay up as long as +ever they liked. + + + + A JOURNEY TO THE STEPPES + +WHEN I was still a child and had not yet read "War and Peace," I +was told that NATASHA ROSTOF was Aunt +Tanya. When my father was asked whether that was true, +and whether DMITRY ROSTOF was such and such a +person and LEVIN such and such another, he never gave a +definite answer, and one could not but feel that he disliked such +questions and was rather offended by them. + +In those remote days about which I am talking, my father was +very keen about the management of his estate, and devoted a lot +of energy to it. I can remember his planting the huge apple +orchard at Yasnaya and several hundred acres of birch and +pine forest, and at the beginning of the seventies, for a number +of years, he was interested in buying up land cheap in the +province of Samara, and breeding droves of steppe horses and +flocks of sheep. + +I still have pretty clear, though rather fragmentary and +inconsequent, recollections of our three summer excursions to the +steppes of Samara. + +My father had already been there before his marriage in +1862, and afterward by the advice of Dr. Zakharyin, who +attended him. He took the kumiss-cure in 1871 and 1872, and at +last, in 1873, the whole family went there. + +At that time my father had bought several hundred acres of +cheap Bashkir lands in the district of Buzuluk, and we +went to stay on our new property at a khutor, or farm. + +In Samara we lived on the farm in a tumble-down wooden +house, and beside us, in the steppe, were erected two felt +kibitkas, or Tatar frame tents, in which our Bashkir, Muhammed +Shah Romanytch, lived with his wives. + +Morning and evening they used to tie the mares up outside +the kibitkas, where they were milked by veiled women, who +then hid themselves from the sight of the men behind a brilliant +chintz curtain, and made the kumiss. + +The kumiss was bitter and very nasty, but my father and my +uncle Stephen Behrs were very fond of it, and drank it in large +quantities. + +When we boys began to get big, we had at first a German +tutor for two or three years, Fyodor Fyodorovitch +Kaufmann. + +I cannot say that we were particularly fond of him. He was +rather rough, and even we children were struck by his German +stupidity. His redeeming feature was that he was a devoted +sportsman. Every morning he used to jerk the blankets off us and +shout, "Auf, Kinder! auf!" and during the daytime plagued us with +German calligraphy. + + + + OUTDOOR SPORTS + +THE chief passion of my childhood was riding. I well remember +the time when my father used to put me in the saddle in front of +him and we would ride out to bathe in the Voronka. I have +several interesting recollections connected with these rides. + +One day as we were going to bathe, papa turned round and +said to me: + +"Do you know, Ilyusha, I am very pleased with myself +to-day. I have been bothered with her for three whole days, and +could not manage to make her go into the house; try as I would, +it was impossible. It never would come right. But to-day I +remembered that there is a mirror in every hall, and that every +lady wears a bonnet. + +"As soon as I remembered that, she went where I wanted her +to, and did everything she had to. You would think a bonnet is a +small affair, but everything depended on that bonnet." + +As I recall this conversation, I feel sure that my father +was talking about that scene in "Anna Karenina" where +ANNA went to see her son. + +Although in the final form of the novel nothing is said in +this scene either about a bonnet or a mirror,--nothing is +mentioned but a thick black veil,--still, I imagine that in its +original form, when he was working on the passage, my father may +have brought Anna up to the mirror, and made her straighten her +bonnet or take it off. + +I can remember the interest with which he told me this, and +it now seems strange that he should have talked about such subtle +artistic experiences to a boy of seven who was hardly capable of +understanding him at the time. However, that was often the case +with him. + +I once heard from him a very interesting description of what +a writer needs for his work: + +"You cannot imagine how important one's mood is," he said. +"Sometimes you get up in the morning, fresh and vigorous, with +your head clear, and you begin to write. Everything is sensible +and consistent. You read it over next day, and have to throw the +whole thing away, because, good as it is, it misses the main +thing. There is no imagination in it, no subtlety, none of the +necessary something, none of that only just without which all +your cleverness is worth nothing. Another day you get up after a +bad night, with your nerves all on edge, and you think, 'To-day I +shall write well, at any rate.' And as a matter of fact, what +you write is beautiful, picturesque, with any amount of +imagination. You look it through again; it is no good, because it +is written stupidly. There is plenty of color, but not enough +intelligence. + +"One's writing is good only when the intelligence and the +imagination are in equilibrium. As soon as one of them +overbalances the other, it's all up; you may as well throw it +away and begin afresh." + +As a matter of fact, there was no end to the rewriting in my +father's works. His industry in this particular was truly +marvelous. + +We were always devoted to sport from our earliest childhood. +I can remember as well as I remember myself my father's favorite +dog in those days, an Irish setter called Dora. They would bring +round the cart, with a very quiet horse between the shafts, and +we would drive out to the marsh, to Degatna or to +Malakhov. My father and sometimes my mother or a coachman +sat on the seat, while I and Dora lay on the floor. + +When we got to the marsh, my father used to get out, stand +his gun on the ground, and, holding it with his left hand, load +it. + +Dora meanwhile fidgeted about, whining impatiently and +wagging her thick tail. + +While my father splashed through the marsh, we drove round +the bank somewhat behind him, and eagerly followed the ranging of +the dog, the getting up of the snipe, and the shooting. My +father sometimes shot fairly well, though he often lost his head, +and missed frantically. + +But our favorite sport was coursing with greyhounds. What a +pleasure it was when the footman Sergei Petrovitch came in and +woke us up before dawn, with a candle in his hand! + +We jumped up full of energy and happiness, trembling all +over in the morning cold; threw on our clothes as quickly as we +could, and ran out into the zala, where the samovar was +boiling and papa was waiting for us. + +Sometimes mama came in in her dressing-gown, and made us put +on all sorts of extra woolen stockings, and sweaters and gloves. + +"What are you going to wear, Lyovotchka?" she would +say to papa. "It's very cold to-day, and there is a wind. Only +the Kuzminsky overcoat again today? You must put on something +underneath, if only for my sake." + +Papa would make a face, but give in at last, and buckle on +his short gray overcoat under the other and sally forth. It +would then be growing light. Our horses were brought round, we +got on, and rode first to "the other house," or to the kennels to +get the dogs. + +Agafya Mikhailovna would be anxiously waiting +us on the steps. Despite the coldness of the morning, she would +be bareheaded and lightly clad, with her black jacket open, +showing her withered, old bosom. She carried the dog-collars in +her lean, knotted hands. + +"Have you gone and fed them again?" asks my father, +severely, looking at the dogs' bulging stomachs. + +"Fed them? Not a bit; only just a crust of bread apiece." + +"Then what are they licking their chops for?" + +"There was a bit of yesterday's oatmeal left over." + +"I thought as much! All the hares will get away again. It +really is too bad! Do you do it to spite me?" + +"You can't have the dogs running all day on empty stomachs, +Lyoff Nikolaievich," she grunted, going angrily to put on the +dogs' collars. + +At last the dogs were got together, some of them on leashes, +others running free; and we would ride out at a brisk trot past +Bitter Wells and the grove into the open country. + +My father would give the word of command, "Line out!" and +point out the direction in which we were to go, and we spread out +over the stubble fields and meadows, whistling and winding about +along the lee side of the steep balks, [8] beating all the +bushes with our hunting-crops, and gazing keenly at every spot or +mark on the earth. + + [8] The balks are the banks dividing the fields of +different owners or crops. Hedges are not used for this purpose +in Russia. + + +Something white would appear ahead. We stared hard at it, +gathered up the reins, examined the leash, scarcely believing the +good luck of having come on a hare at last. Then riding up +closer and closer, with our eyes on the white thing, it would +turn out to be not a hare at all, but a horse's skull. How +annoying! + +We would look at papa and Seryozha, thinking, "I +wonder if they saw that I took that skull for a hare." But papa +would be sitting keen and alert on his English saddle, with the +wooden stirrups, smoking a cigarette, while Seryozha would +perhaps have got his leash entangled and could not get it +straight. + +"Thank heaven!" we would exclaim, "nobody saw me! What a +fool I should have felt!" So we would ride on. + +The horse's even pace would begin to rock us to sleep, +feeling rather bored at nothing getting up; when all of a sudden, +just at the moment we least expected it, right in front of us, +twenty paces away, would jump up a gray hare as if from the +bowels of the earth. + +The dogs had seen it before we had, and had started forward +already in full pursuit. We began to bawl, "Tally-ho! tally-ho!" +like madmen, flogging our horses with all our might, and flying +after them. + +The dogs would come up with the hare, turn it, then turn it +again, the young and fiery Sultan and Darling running over it, +catching up again, and running over again; and at last the old +and experienced Winger, who had been galloping on one side all +the time, would seize her opportunity, and spring in. The hare +would give a helpless cry like a baby, and the dogs, burying +their fangs in it, in a star-shaped group, would begin to tug in +different directions. + +"Let go! Let go!" + +We would come galloping up, finish off the hare, and give +the dogs the tracks, [9] tearing them off toe by toe, and +throwing them to our favorites, who would catch them in the air. +Then papa would teach us how to strap the hare on the back of the +saddle. + + [9] Pazanki, tracks of a hare, name given to the +last joint of the hind legs. + + +After the run we would all be in better spirits, and get to +better places near Yasenki and Retinka. Gray hares +would get up oftener. Each of us would have his spoils in the +saddle-straps now, and we would begin to hope for a fox. + +Not many foxes would turn up. If they did, it was generally +Tumashka, who was old and staid, who distinguished himself. He +was sick of hares, and made no great effort to run after them; +but with a fox he would gallop at full speed, and it was almost +always he who killed. + +It would be late, often dark, when we got back home. + + + + "ANNA KAReNINA" + +I REMEMBER my father writing his alphabet and reading-book in +1871 and 1872, but I cannot at all remember his beginning "Anna +Karenina." I probably knew nothing about it at the time. +What did it matter to a boy of seven what his father was writing? +It was only later, when one kept hearing the name again and +again, and bundles of proofs kept arriving, and were sent off +almost every day, that I understood that "Anna Karenina" +was the name of the novel on which my father and mother were both +at work. + +My mother's work seemed much harder than my father's, +because we actually saw her at it, and she worked much longer +hours than he did. She used to sit in the sitting-room off the +zala, at her little writing-table, and spend all her free +time writing. + +Leaning over the manuscript and trying to decipher my +father's scrawl with her short-sighted eyes, she used to spend +whole evenings over it, and often sat up late at night after +everybody else had gone to bed. Sometimes, when anything was +written quite illegibly, she would go to my father's study and +ask him what it meant. But this was very rare, because my mother +did not like to disturb him. + +When it happened, my father used to take the manuscript in +his hand, and ask with some annoyance, "What on earth is the +difficulty?" and would begin to read it out aloud. When he came +to the difficult place he would mumble and hesitate, and +sometimes had the greatest difficulty in making out, or, rather, +in guessing, what he had written. He had a very bad handwriting, +and a terrible habit of writing in whole sentences between the +lines, or in the corners of the page, or sometimes right across +it. + +My mother often discovered gross grammatical errors, and +pointed them out to my father, and corrected them. + +When "Anna Karenina" began to come out in the "Russky +Vyestnik," [10] long galley-proofs were posted to my +father, and he looked them through and corrected them. + +[10] A Moscow monthly, founded by Katkof, who +somehow managed to edit both this and the daily +"Moskovskiya Vyedomosti," on which "Uncle +Kostya" worked at the same time. + + +At first the margins would be marked with the ordinary +typographical signs, letters omitted, marks of punctuation, etc.; +then individual words would be changed, and then whole sentences, +till in the end the proof-sheet would be reduced to a mass of +patches quite black in places, and it was quite impossible to +send it back as it stood, because no one but my mother could make +head or tail of the tangle of conventional signs, transpositions, +and erasures. + +My mother would sit up all night copying the whole thing out +afresh. + +In the morning there would lie the pages on her table, +neatly piled together, covered all over with her fine, clear +handwriting, and everything ready so that when +"Lyovotchka" got up he could send the proof-sheets off by +post. + + +My father carried them off to his study to have "just one +last look," and by the evening it would be just as bad again, the +whole thing having been rewritten and messed up. + +"Sonya my dear, I am very sorry, but I've spoiled all your +work again; I promise I won't do it any more," he would say, +showing her the passages he had inked over with a guilty air. +"We'll send them off to-morrow without fail." But this to-morrow +was often put off day by day for weeks or months together. + +"There's just one bit I want to look through again," my +father would say; but he would get carried away and recast the +whole thing afresh. + +There were even occasions when, after posting the proofs, he +would remember some particular words next day, and correct them +by telegraph. Several times, in consequence of these rewritings, +the printing of the novel in the "Russky Vyestnik" was +interrupted, and sometimes it did not come out for months +together. + +In the last part of "Anna Karenina" my father, in +describing the end of VRONSKY'S career, showed his +disapproval of the volunteer movement and the Panslavonic +committees, and this led to a quarrel with Katkof. + +I can remember how angry my father was when Katkof +refused to print those chapters as they stood, and asked him +either to leave out part of them or to soften them down, and +finally returned the manuscript, and printed a short note in his +paper to say that after the death of the heroine the novel was +strictly speaking at an end; but that the author had added an +epilogue of two printed sheets, in which he related such and such +facts, and he would very likely "develop these chapters for the +separate edition of his novel." + +In concluding, I wish to say a few words about my father's +own opinion of "Anna Karenina." + +In 1875 he wrote to N. N. Strakhof: + +"I must confess that I was delighted by the success of the +last piece of 'Anna Karenina.' I had by no means expected +it, and to tell you the truth, I am surprised that people are so +pleased with such ordinary and EMPTY stuff." + +The same year he wrote to Fet: + +"It is two months since I have defiled my hands with ink or +my heart with thoughts. But now I am setting to work again on my +TEDIOUS, VULGAR 'ANNA KARENINA,' with only one +wish, to clear it out of the way as soon as possible and give +myself leisure for other occupations, but not schoolmastering, +which I am fond of, but wish to give up; it takes up too much +time." + +In 1878, when the novel was nearing its end, he wrote again +to Strakhof: + +"I am frightened by the feeling that I am getting into my +summer mood again. I LOATHE what I have written. The +proof-sheets for the April number [of "Anna Karenina" in +the "Russky Vyestnik"] now lie on my table, and I am +afraid that I have not the heart to correct them. +EVERYTHING in them is BEASTLY, and the whole thing +ought to be rewritten,--all that has been printed, too,--scrapped +and melted down, thrown away, renounced. I ought to say, 'I am +sorry; I will not do it any more,' and try to write something +fresh instead of all this incoherent, neither-fish-nor-flesh- +nor-fowlish stuff." + +That was how my father felt toward his novel while he was +writing it. Afterward I often heard him say much harsher things +about it. + +"What difficulty is there in writing about how an officer +fell in love with a married woman?" he used to say. "There's no +difficulty in it, and above all no good in it." + +I am quite convinced that if my father could have done so, +he long ago would have destroyed this novel, which he never liked +and always wanted to disown. + + + (To be continued) + + + + REMINISCENCES OF TOLSTOY + + + BY HIS SON, COUNT ILYA TOLSTOY + + + TRANSLATED BY GEORGE CALDERON + +IN the summer, when both families were together at Yasnaya, +our own and the Kuzminsky's, when both the house and the +annex were full of the family and their guests, we used our +letter-box. + +It originated long before, when I was still small and had only +just learned to write, and it continued with intervals till the +middle of the eighties. + +It hung on the landing at the top of the stairs beside the +grandfather's clock; and every one dropped his compositions into +it, the verses, articles, or stories that he had written on topical +subjects in the course of the week. + +On Sundays we would all collect at the round table in the +zala, the box would be solemnly opened, and one of the +grown-ups, often my father himself, would read the contents aloud. + +All the papers were unsigned, and it was a point of honor not +to peep at the handwriting; but, despite this, we almost always +guessed the author, either by the style, by his self-consciousness, +or else by the strained indifference of his expression. + +When I was a boy, and for the first time wrote a set of French +verses for the letter-box, I was so shy when they were read that I +hid under the table, and sat there the whole evening until I was +pulled out by force. + +For a long time after, I wrote no more, and was always fonder +of hearing other people's compositions read than my own. + +All the events of our life at Yasnaya Polyana +found their echo in one way or another in the letter-box, and no +one was spared, not even the grown-ups. + +All our secrets, all our love-affairs, all the incidents of +our complicated life were revealed in the letter-box, and both +household and visitors were good-humoredly made fun of. + +Unfortunately, much of the correspondence has been lost, but +bits of it have been preserved by some of us in copies or in +memory. I cannot recall everything interesting that there was in +it, but here are a few of the more interesting things from the +period of the eighties. + + + + THE LETTER-BOX + +THE old fogy continues his questions. Why, when women or old men +enter the room, does every well-bred person not only offer them a +seat, but give them up his own? + +Why do they make Ushakof or some Servian officer who +comes to pay a visit necessarily stay to tea or dinner? + +Why is it considered wrong to let an older person or a woman +help you on with your overcoat? + +And why are all these charming rules considered obligatory +toward others, when every day ordinary people come, and we not only +do not ask them to sit down or to stop to dinner or spend the night +or render them any service, but would look on it as the height of +impropriety? + +Where do those people end to whom we are under these +obligations? By what characteristics are the one sort +distinguished from the others? And are not all these rules of +politeness bad, if they do not extend to all sorts of people? And +is not what we call politeness an illusion, and a very ugly +illusion? + + LYOFF TOLSTOY. + + +Question: Which is the most "beastly plague," a cattle-plague +case for a farmer, or the ablative case for a school-boy? + + LYOFF TOLSTOY. + + +Answers are requested to the following questions: + +Why do Ustyusha, Masha, Alyona, Peter, etc., +have to bake, boil, sweep, empty slops, wait at table, while the +gentry have only to eat, gobble, quarrel, make slops, and eat +again? + + LYOFF TOLSTOY. + +My Aunt Tanya, when she was in a bad temper because the +coffee-pot had been spilt or because she had been beaten at +croquet, was in the habit of sending every one to the devil. My +father wrote the following story, "Susoitchik," about it. + + +The devil, not the chief devil, but one of the rank and file, +the one charged with the management of social affairs, +Susoitchik by name, was greatly perturbed on the 6th of +August, 1884. From the early morning onward, people kept arriving +who had been sent him by Tatyana Kuzminsky. + +The first to arrive was Alexander Mikhailovitch +Kuzminsky; the second was Misha Islavin; the +third was Vyatcheslaf; the fourth was Seryozha Tolstoy, and +last of all came old Lyoff Tolstoy, senior, accompanied by Prince +Urusof. The first visitor, Alexander Mikhailovitch, +caused Susoitchik no surprise, as he often paid +Susoitchik visits in obedience to the behests of his wife. + +"What, has your wife sent you again?" + +"Yes," replied the presiding judge of the district-court, +shyly, not knowing what explanation he could give of the cause of +his visit. + +"You come here very often. What do you want?" + +"Oh, nothing in particular; she just sent her compliments," +murmured Alexander Mikhailovitch, departing from the exact +truth with some effort. + +"Very good, very good; come whenever you like; she is one of +my best workers." + +Before Susoitchik had time to show the judge out, in +came all the children, laughing and jostling, and hiding one behind +the other. + +"What brought you here, youngsters? Did my little +Tanyitchka send you? That's right; no harm in coming. Give +my compliments to Tanya, and tell her that I am always at +her service. Come whenever you like. Old Susoitchik may be +of use to you." + +No sooner had the young folk made their bow than old Lyoff +Tolstoy appeared with Prince Urusof. + +"Aha! so it's the old boy! Many thanks to Tanyitchka. +It's a long time since I have seen you, old chap. Well and hearty? +And what can I do for you?" + +Lyoff Tolstoy shuffled about, rather abashed. + +Prince Urusof, mindful of the etiquette of diplomatic +receptions, stepped forward and explained Tolstoy's appearance by +his wish to make acquaintance with Tatyana +Andreyevna's oldest and most faithful friend. + +"Les amis des nos amis sont nos amis." + +"Ha! ha! ha! quite so!" said Susoitchik. "I must +reward her for to-day's work. Be so kind, Prince, as to hand her +the marks of my good-will." + +And he handed over the insignia of an order in a morocco case. +The insignia consisted of a necklace of imp's tails to be worn +about the throat, and two toads, one to be worn on the bosom and +the other on the bustle. + + LYOFF TOLSTOY, SENIOR. + + + + SERGEI NIKOLaYEVITCH TOLSTOY + +I CAN remember my Uncle Seryozha (Sergei) from my +earliest childhood. He lived at Pirogovo, twenty miles from +Yasnaya, and visited us often. + +As a young man he was very handsome. He had the same features +as my father, but he was slenderer and more aristocratic-looking. +He had the same oval face, the same nose, the same intelligent gray +eyes, and the same thick, overhanging eyebrows. The only +difference between his face and my father's was defined by the fact +that in those distant days, when my father cared for his personal +appearance, he was always worrying about his ugliness, while Uncle +Seryozha was considered, and really was, a very handsome +man. + +This is what my father says about Uncle Seryozha in his +fragmentary reminiscences: + +"I and Nitenka [11] were chums, Nikolenka I +revered, but Seryozha I admired enthusiastically and +imitated; I loved him and wished to be he. + + [11] Dmitry. My father's brother Dmitry died in 1856; +Nikolai died September 20, 1860. + + +"I admired his handsome exterior, his singing,--he was always +a singer,--his drawing, his gaiety, and above all, however strange +a thing it may seem to say, the directness of his egoism. [12] + +[12] That is to say, his eyes went always on the straightest +road to attain satisfaction for himself. + + +"I always remembered myself, was aware of myself, always +divined rightly or wrongly what others thought about me and felt +toward me; and this spoiled the joy of life for me. This was +probably the reason why I particularly delighted in the opposite of this in +other people; namely, directness of egoism. That is what I +especially loved in Seryozha, though the word 'loved' is +inexact. + +"I loved Nikolenka, but I admired Seryozha as +something alien and incomprehensible to me. It was a human life +very beautiful, but completely incomprehensible to me, mysterious, +and therefore especially attractive. + +"He died only a few days ago, and while he was ill and while +he was dying he was just as inscrutable and just as dear to me as +he had been in the distant days of our childhood. + +"In these latter days, in our old age, he was fonder of me, +valued my attachment more, was prouder of me, wanted to agree with +me, but could not, and remained just the same as he had always +been; namely, something quite apart, only himself, handsome, +aristocratic, proud, and, above all, truthful and sincere to a +degree that I never met in any other man. + +"He was what he was; he concealed nothing, and did not wish to +appear anything different." + +Uncle Seryozha never treated children affectionately; +on the contrary, he seemed to put up with us rather than to like +us. But we always treated him with particular reverence. The +result, as I can see now, partly of his aristocratic appearance, +but chiefly because of the fact that he called my father +"Lyovotchka" and treated him just as my father treated us. + +He was not only not in the least afraid of him, but was always +teasing him, and argued with him like an elder person with a +younger. We were quite alive to this. + +Of course every one knew that there were no faster dogs in the +world than our black-and-white Darling and her daughter Wizard. +Not a hare could get away from them. But Uncle Seryozha +said that the gray hares about us were sluggish creatures, not at +all the same thing as steppe hares, and neither Darling nor Wizard +would get near a steppe hare. + +We listened with open mouths, and did not know which to +believe, papa or Uncle Seryozha. + +Uncle Seryozha went out coursing with us one day. A +number of gray hares were run down, not one, getting away; Uncle +Seryozha expressed no surprise, but still maintained that +the only reason was because they were a poor lot of hares. We +could not tell whether he was right or wrong. + +Perhaps, after all, he was right, for he was more of a +sportsman than papa and had run down ever so many wolves, while we +had never known papa run any wolves down. + +Afterward papa kept dogs only because there was Agafya +Mikhailovna to be thought of, and Uncle Seryozha gave +up sport because it was impossible to keep dogs. + +"Since the emancipation of the peasants," he said, "sport is +out of the question; there are no huntsmen to be had, and the +peasants turn out with sticks and drive the sportsmen off the +fields. What is there left to do nowadays? Country life has +become impossible." + +With all his good breeding and sincerity, Uncle +Seryozha never concealed any characteristic but one; with +the utmost shyness he concealed the tenderness of his affections, +and if it ever forced itself into the light, it was only in +exceptional circumstances and that against his will. + +He displayed with peculiar clearness a family characteristic +which was partly shared by my father, namely, an extraordinary +restraint in the expression of affection, which was often concealed +under the mask of indifference and sometimes even of unexpected +harshness. In the matter of wit and sarcasm, on the other hand, he +was strikingly original. + +At one period he spent several winters in succession with his +family in Moscow. One time, after a historic concert given by +Anton Rubinstein, at which Uncle Seryozha and his daughter +had been, he came to take tea with us in Weavers' Row.[13] + +[13] Khamsvniki, a street in Moscow. + + +My father asked him how he had liked the concert. + +"Do you remember Himbut, Lyovotchka? Lieutenant +Himbut, who was forester near Yasnaya? I once asked him +what was the happiest moment of his life. Do you know what he +answered? + +"'When I was in the cadet corps,' he said, 'they used to take +down my breeches now and again and lay me across a bench and flog +me. They flogged and they flogged; when they stopped, that was the +happiest moment of my life.' Well, it was only during the entr'actes, when +Rubinstein stopped playing, that I really enjoyed myself." + +He did not always spare my father. + +Once when I was out shooting with a setter near +Pirogovo, I drove in to Uncle Seryozha's to stop the +night. + +I do not remember apropos of what, but Uncle Seryozha +averred that Lyovotchka was proud. He said: + +"He is always preaching humility and non-resistance, but he is +proud himself. + +"Nashenka's [14] sister had a footman called Forna. +When he got drunk, he used to get under the staircase, tuck in his +legs, and lie down. One day they came and told him that the +countess was calling him. 'She can come and find me if she wants +me,' he answered. + + [14] Maria Mikhailovna, his wife. + + +"Lyovotchka is just the same. When Dolgoruky +sent his chief secretary Istomin to ask him to come and have +a talk with him about Syntayef, the sectarian, do you know +what he answered? + +"'Let him come here, if he wants me.' Isn't that just the +same as Forna? + +"No, Lyovotchka is very proud. Nothing would induce +him to go, and he was quite right; but it's no good talking of +humility." + +During the last years of Sergei Nikolayevitch's +life my father was particularly friendly and affectionate with him, +and delighted in sharing his thoughts with him. + +A. A. Fet in his reminiscences describes the character of all +the three Tolstoy brothers with extraordinary perspicacity: + + +I am convinced that the fundamental type of all the three +Tolstoy brothers was identical, just as the type of all +maple-leaves is identical, despite the variety of their +configurations. And if I set myself to develop the idea, I could +show to what a degree all three brothers shared in that passionate +enthusiasm without which it would have been impossible for one of +them to turn into the poet Lyoff Tolstoy. The difference of their +attitude to life was determined by the difference of the ways in +which they turned their backs on their unfulfilled dreams. +Nikolai quenched his ardor in skeptical derision, Lyoff +renounced his unrealized dreams with silent reproach, and +Sergei with morbid misanthropy. The greater the original +store of love in such characters, the stronger, if only for a time, +is their resemblance to Timon of Athens. + +In the winter of 1901-02 my father was ill in the Crimea, and for +a long time lay between life and death. Uncle Seryozha, who +felt himself getting weaker, could not bring himself to leave +Pirogovo, and in his own home followed anxiously the course +of my father's illness by the letters which several members of our +family wrote him, and by the bulletins in the newspapers. + +When my father began to improve, I went back home, and on the +way from the Crimea went to Pirogovo, in order to tell Uncle +Seryozha personally about the course of the illness and +about the present condition of my father's health. I remember how +joyfully and gratefully he welcomed me. + +"How glad I am that you came! Now tell me all about it. Who +is with him? All of them? And who nurses him most? Do you go on +duty in turn? And at night, too? He can't get out of bed. Ah, +that's the worst thing of all! + +"It will be my turn to die soon; a year sooner or later, what +does it matter? But to lie helpless, a burden to every one, to +have others doing everything for you, lifting you and helping you +to sit up, that's what's so awful. + +"And how does he endure it? Got used to it, you say? No; I +cannot imagine having Vera to change my linen and wash me. Of +course she would say that it's nothing to her, but for me it would +be awful. + +"And tell me, is he afraid to die? Does he say not? Very +likely; he's a strong man, he may be able to conquer the fear of +it. Yes, yes, perhaps he's not afraid; but still-- + +"You say he struggles with the feeling? Why, of course; what +else can one do? + +"I wanted to go and be with him; but I thought, how can I? I +shall crack up myself, and then there will be two invalids instead +of one. + +"Yes, you have told me a great deal; every detail is +interesting. It is not death that's so terrible, it's illness, +helplessness, and, above all, the fear that you are a burden to others. +That's awful, awful." + +Uncle Seryozha died in 1904 of cancer in the face. +This is what my aunt, Maria Nikolayevna, [15] the +nun, told me about his death. Almost to the last day he was on his +legs, and would not let any one nurse him. He was in full +possession of his faculties and consciously prepared for death. + +[15] Tolstoy's sister. She became a nun after her husband's +death and the marriage of her three daughters. + + +Besides his own family, the aged Maria +Mikhailovna and her daughters, his sister, Maria +Nikolayevna, who told me the story, was with him, too, and +from hour to hour they expected the arrival of my father, for whom +they had sent a messenger to Yasnaya. They were all +troubled with the difficult question whether the dying man would +want to receive the holy communion before he died. + +Knowing Sergei Nikolayevitch's disbelief in the +religion of the church, no one dared to mention the subject to him, +and the unhappy Maria Mikhailovna hovered round his +room, wringing her hands and praying. + +They awaited my father's arrival impatiently, but were +secretly afraid of his influence on his brother, and hoped against +hope that Sergei Nikolayevitch would send for the +priest before his arrival. + +"Imagine our surprise and delight," said Maria Tolstoy, +"when Lyovotchka came out of his room and told Maria +Mikhailovna that Seryozha wanted a priest sent for. +I do not know what they had been talking about, but when +Seryozha said that he wished to take the communion, +Lyovotchka answered that he was quite right, and at once +came and told us what he wanted." + +My father stayed about a week at Pirogovo, and left two +days before my uncle died. + +When he received a telegram to say he was worse, he drove over +again, but arrived too late; he was no longer living. He carried +his body out from the house with his own hands, and himself bore it +to the churchyard. + +When he got back to Yasnaya he spoke with touching +affection of his parting with this "inscrutable and beloved" +brother, who was so strange and remote from him, but at the same +time so near and so akin. + + + + FET, STRAKHOF, GAY + +"WHAT'S this saber doing here?" asked a young guardsman, Lieutenant +Afanasyi Afanasyevitch Fet, of the footman one day +as he entered the hall of Ivan Sergeyevitch +Turgenieff's flat in St. Petersburg in the middle of the +fifties. + +"It is Count Tolstoy's saber; he is asleep in the +drawing-room. And Ivan Sergeyevitch is in his study +having breakfast," replied Zalchar. + +"During the hour I spent with Turgenieff," says Fet, in +his reminiscences, "we talked in low voices, for fear of waking the +count, who was asleep on the other side of the door." + +"He's like that all the time," said Turgenieff, +smiling; "ever since he got back from his battery at +Sebastopol,[16] and came to stay here, he has been going the +pace. Orgies, Gipsies, and gambling all night long, and then +sleeps like a dead man till two o'clock in the afternoon. I did my +best to stop him, but have given it up as a bad job. + +[16] Tolstoy was in the artillery, and commanded a battery in +the Crimea. + + +"It was in this visit to St. Petersburg that I and Tolstoy +became acquainted, but the acquaintance was of a purely formal +character, as I had not yet seen a line of his writings, and had +never heard of his name in literature, except that +Turgenieff mentioned his 'Stories of Childhood.'" + +Soon after this my father came to know Fet intimately, and +they struck up a firm and lasting friendship, and established a +correspondence which lasted almost till Fet's death. + +It was only during the last years of Fet's life, when my +father was entirely absorbed in his new ideas, which were so at +variance with Afanasyi Afanasyevitch's whole +philosophy of life, that they became estranged and met more rarely. + +It was at Fet's, at Stepanovka, that my father and +Turgenieff quarreled. + +Before the railway was made, when people still had to drive, +Fet, on his way into Moscow, always used to turn in at +Yasnaya Polyana to see my father, and these visits +became an established custom. Afterward, when the railway was made +and my father was already married, Afanasyi +Afanasyevitch still never passed our house without coming +in, and if he did, my father used to write him a letter of earnest reproaches, +and he used to apologize as if he had been guilty of some fault. In those +distant times of which I am speaking my father was bound to Fet by +a common interest in agriculture as well as literature. + +Some of my father's letters of the sixties are curious in this +respect. + +For instance, in 1860, he wrote a long dissertation on +Turgenieff's novel "On the Eve," which had just come out, +and at the end added a postscript: "What is the price of a set of +the best quality of veterinary instruments? And what is the price +of a set of lancets and bleeding-cups for human use?" + +In another letter there is a postscript: + +"When you are next in Oryol, buy me six-hundred weight of +various ropes, reins, and traces," and on the same page: "'Tender +art thou,' and the whole thing is charming. You have never done +anything better; it is all charming." The quotation is from Fet's +poem: + +The lingering clouds' last throng flies over us. + + +But it was not only community of interests that brought my +father and Afanasyi Afanasyevitch together. The +reason of their intimacy lay in the fact that, as my father +expressed it, they "thought alike with their heart's mind." + +I also remember Nikolai Nikolayevitch Strakhof's +visits. He was a remarkably quiet and modest man. He appeared at +Yasnaya Polyana in the beginning of the seventies, +and from that time on came and stayed with us almost every summer +till he died. + +He had big, gray eyes, wide open, as if in astonishment; a +long beard with a touch of gray in it; and when he spoke, at the +end of every sentence he gave a shy laugh. + +When he addressed my father, he always said "Lef +Nikolayevitch" instead of Lyoff Nikolaievich, like other +people. + +He always stayed down-stairs in my father's study, and spent +his whole day there reading or writing, with a thick cigarette, +which he rolled himself, in his mouth. + +Strakhof and my father came together originally on a purely +business footing. When the first part of my father's "Alphabet and +Reading-Book" was printed, Strakhof had charge of the +proof-reading. This led to a correspondence between him and my +father, of a business character at first, later developing into +a philosophical and friendly one. While he was writing "Anna +Karenina," my father set great store by his opinion and +valued his critical instinct very highly. + +"It is enough for me that that is your opinion," he writes +in a letter of 1872, probably apropos of the "Alphabet." + +In 1876, apropos of "Anna Karenina" this time, my +father wrote: + +"You ask me whether you have understood my novel aright, and +what I think of your opinion. Of course you understood it aright. +Of course I am overjoyed at your understanding of it; but it does +not follow that everybody will understand it as you do." + +But it was not only his critical work that drew my father to +Strakhof. He disliked critics on the whole and used to say that +the only people who took to criticism were those who had no +creative faculty of their own. "The stupid ones judge the clever +ones," he said of professional critics. What he valued most in +Strakhof was the profound and penetrating thinker. He was a "real +friend" of my father's,--my father himself so described him,--and +I recall his memory with deep affection and respect. + +At last I have come to the memory of the man who was nearer in +spirit to my father than any other human being, namely, +Nikolai Nikolayevitch Gay. Grandfather Gay, as we +called him, made my father's acquaintance in 1882. While living +on his farm in the Province of Tchernigoff, he chanced to read my +father's pamphlet "On the Census," and finding a solution in it of +the very questions which were troubling him at the time, without +delay he started out and hurried into Moscow. I remember his first +arrival, and I have always retained the impression that from the +first words they exchanged he and my father understood each other, +and found themselves speaking the same language. + +Just like my father, Gay was at this time passing through a +great spiritual crisis; and traveling almost the same road as my +father in his search after truth, he had arrived at the study of +the Gospel and a new understanding of it. My sister +Tatyana wrote: + +For the personality of Christ he entertained a passionate and +tender affection, as if for a near and familiar friend whom he +loved with all the strength of his soul. Often during heated +arguments Nikolai Nikolayevitch would take the +Gospel, which he always carried about with him, from his pocket, +and read out some passage from it appropriate to the subject in +hand. "This book contains everything that a man needs," he used to +say on these occasions. + +While reading the Gospel, he often looked up at the person he +was talking to and went on reading without looking at the book. +His face glowed at such moments with such inward joy that one could +see how near and dear the words he was reading were to his heart. + +He knew the whole Gospel almost by heart, but he said that +every time he read it he enjoyed a new and genuine spiritual +delight. He said that not only was everything intelligible to him +in the Gospel, but that when he read it he seemed to be reading in +his own soul, and felt himself capable of rising higher and higher +toward God and merging himself in Him. + + + + TURGeNIEFF + +I DO not mean to recount all the misunderstandings which existed +between my father and Turgenieff, which ended in a complete +breach between them in 1861. The actual external facts of that +story are common property, and there is no need to repeat +them. [17] According to general opinion, the quarrel between the +two greatest writers of the day arose out of their literary +rivalry. + + [17] Fet, at whose house the quarrel took place, tells all +about it in his memoirs. Tolstoy dogmatized about lady-like +charity, apropos of Turgenieff's daughter. +Turgenieff, in a fit of nerves, threatened to box his ears. +Tolstoy challenged him to a duel, and Turgenieff apologized. + + +It is my intention to show cause against this generally +received opinion, and before I come to Turgenieff's visits +to Yasnaya Polyana, I want to make as clear as I can +the real reason of the perpetual discords between these two +good-hearted people, who had a cordial affection for each other-- +discords which led in the end to an out-and-out quarrel and the +exchange of mutual defiance. + +As far as I know, my father never had any serious difference +with any other human being during the whole course of his +existence. And Turgenieff, in a letter to my father in +1865, wrote, "You are the only man with whom I have ever had +misunderstandings." + +Whenever my father related his quarrel with Ivan +Sergeyevitch, he took all the blame on himself. +Turgenieff, immediately after the quarrel, wrote a letter +apologizing to my father, and never sought to justify his own part +in it. + +Why was it that, as Turgenieff himself put it, his +"constellation" and my father's "moved in the ether with +unquestioned enmity"? + +This is what my sister Tatyana wrote on the subject in +her article "Turgenieff," published in the supplement to +the "Novoye Vremya," February 2, 1908: + + +All question of literary rivalry, it seems to me, is utterly +beside the mark. Turgenieff, from the very outset of my +father's literary career, acknowledged his enormous talents, and +never thought of rivalry with him. From the moment when, as early +as 1854, he wrote to Kolbasina, "If Heaven only grant +Tolstoy life, I confidently hope that he will surprise us all," he +never ceased to follow my father's work with interest, and always +expressed his unbounded admiration of it. + + +"When this young wine has done fermenting," he wrote to +Druzhenin in 1856, "the result will be a liquor worthy of +the gods." In 1857 he wrote to Polonsky, "This man will go +far, and leave deep traces behind him." + +Nevertheless, somehow these two men never could "hit it off" +together. When one reads Turgenieff's letters to my father, +one sees that from the very beginning of their acquaintance +misunderstandings were always arising, which they perpetually +endeavored to smooth down or to forget, but which arose again after +a time, sometimes in another form, necessitating new explanations +and reconciliations. + +In 1856 Turgenieff wrote to my father: + + +Your letter took some time reaching me, dear Lyoff +Nikolaievich. Let me begin by +saying that I am very grateful to you for sending it to me. I +shall never cease to love you and to value your friendship, +although, probably through my fault, each of us will long feel +considerable awkwardness in the presence of the other. . . . I +think that you yourself understand the reason of this awkwardness +of which I speak. You are the only man with whom I have ever had +misunderstandings. + +This arises from the very fact that I have never been willing +to confine myself to merely friendly relations with you. I have +always wanted to go further and deeper than that; but I set about +it clumsily. I irritated and upset you, and when I saw my mistake, +I drew back too hastily, perhaps; and it was this which caused this +"gulf" between us. + +But this awkwardness is a mere physical impression, nothing +more; and if when we meet again, you see the old "mischievous look +in my eyes," believe me, the reason of it will not be that I am a +bad man. I assure you that there is no need to look for any other +explanation. Perhaps I may add, also, that I am much older than +you, and I have traveled a different road. . . . Outside of our +special, so-called "literary" interests, I am convinced, we have +few points of contact. Your whole being stretches out hands toward +the future; mine is built up in the past. For me to follow you is +impossible. For you to follow me is equally out of the question. +You are too far removed from me, and besides, you stand too firmly +on your own legs to become any one's disciple. I can assure you +that I never attributed any malice to you, never suspected you of +any literary envy. I have often thought, if you will excuse the +expression, that you were wanting in common sense, but never in +goodness. You are too penetrating not to know that if either of us +has cause to envy the other, it is certainly not you that has cause +to envy me. + + +The following year he wrote a letter to my father which, it +seems to me, is a key to the understanding of Turgenieff's +attitude toward him: + + +You write that you are very glad you did not follow my advice +and become a pure man of letters. I don't deny it; perhaps you are +right. Still, batter my poor brains as I may, I cannot imagine +what else you are if you are not a man of letters. A soldier? A +squire? A philosopher? The founder of a new religious doctrine? +A civil servant? A man of business? . . . Please resolve my +difficulties, and tell me which of these suppositions is correct. +I am joking, but I really do wish beyond all things to see you +under way at last, with all sails set. + + +It seems to me that Turgenieff, as an artist, saw +nothing in my father beyond his great literary talent, and was +unwilling to allow him the right to be anything besides an artist +and a writer. Any other line of activity on my father's part +offended Turgenieff, as it were, and he was angry with my +father because he did not follow his advice. He was much older +than my father, [18] he did not hesitate to rank his own talent +lower than my father's, and demanded only one thing of him, that he +should devote all the energies of his life to his literary work. +And, lo and behold! my father would have nothing to do with his +magnanimity and humility, would not listen to his advice, but +insisted on going the road which his own tastes and nature pointed +out to him. Turgenieff's tastes and character were +diametrically opposed to my father's. While opposition always +inspired my father and lent him strength, it had just the opposite +effect on Turgenieff. + +[18] Turgenieff was ten years older than Tolstoy. + + +Being wholly in agreement with my sister's views, I will +merely supplement them with the words uttered by his brother, +Nikolai Nikolayevitch, who said that +"Turgenieff cannot reconcile himself to the idea that +Lyovotchka is growing up and freeing himself from his +tutelage." + +As a matter of fact, when Turgenieff was already a +famous writer, no one had ever heard of Tolstoy, and, as Fet +expressed it, there was only "something said about his stories from +'Childhood.'" + +I can imagine with what secret veneration a young writer, just +beginning, must have regarded Turgenieff at that time, and +all the more because Ivan Sergeyevitch was a great +friend of my father's elder and beloved brother Nikolai. + +I do not like to assert it positively, but it seems to me that +just as Turgenieff was unwilling to confine himself to +"merely friendly relations," so my father also felt too warmly toward +Ivan Sergeyevitch, and that was the very reason why +they could never meet without disagreeing and quarreling. In +confirmation of what I say here is a passage from a letter written +by V. Botkin, a close friend of my father's and of +Ivan Sergeyevitch's, to A. A. Fet, written +immediately after their quarrel: + + +I think that Tolstoy really has a passionately affectionate +nature and he would like to love Turgenieff in the warmest +way possible; but unfortunately his impulsive feeling encounters +nothing but a kindly, good-natured indifference, and he can by no +means reconcile himself to that. + + +Turgenieff himself said that when they first came to +know each other my father dogged his heels "like a woman in love," +and at one time he used to avoid him, because he was afraid of his +spirit of opposition. + +My father was perhaps irritated by the slightly patronizing +tone which Turgenieff adopted from the very outset of their +acquaintance; and Turgenieff was irritated by my father's +"crankiness," which distracted him from "his proper +metier, literature." + +In 1870, before the date of the quarrel, Turgenieff +wrote to Fet: + +"Lyoff Tolstoy continues to play the crank. It was evidently +written in his stars. When will he turn his last somersault and +stand on his feet at last?" + +Turgenieff was just the same about my father's +"Confession," which he read not long before his death. Having +promised to read it, "to try to understand it," and "not to lose my +temper," he "started to write a long letter in answer to the +'Confession,' but never finished it . . . for fear of becoming +disputatious." + +In a letter to D. V. Grigorevitch he called the book, +which was based, in his opinion, on false premises, "a denial of +all live human life" and "a new sort of Nihilism." + +It is evident that even then Turgenieff did not +understand what a mastery my father's new philosophy of life had +obtained over him, and he was inclined to attribute his enthusiasm +along with the rest to the same perpetual "crankinesses" and +"somersaults" to which he had formerly attributed his interest in +school-teaching, agriculture, the publication of a paper, and so +forth. + + +IVaN SERGeYEVITCH three times visited Yasnaya +Polyana within my memory, in: August and September, 1878, +and the third and last time at the beginning of May, 1880. I can +remember all these visits, although it is quite possible that +some details have escaped me. + +I remember that when we expected Turgenieff on his +first visit, it was a great occasion, and the most anxious and +excited of all the household about it was my mother. She told us +that my father had quarreled with Turgenieff and had +once challenged him to a duel, and that he was now coming at my +father's invitation to effect a reconciliation. + +Turgenieff spent all the time sitting with my father, +who during his visit put aside even his work, and once in the +middle of the day my mother collected us all at a quite unusual +hour in the drawing-room, where Ivan Sergeyevitch +read us his story of "The Dog." + +I can remember his tall, stalwart figure, his gray, silky, +yellowish hair, his soft tread, rather waddling walk, and his +piping voice, quite out of keeping with his majestic exterior. He +had a chuckling kind of laugh, like a child's, and when he laughed +his voice was more piping than ever. + +In the evening, after dinner, we all gathered in the +zala. At that time Uncle Seryozha, Prince +Leonid Dmitryevitch Urusof, Vice-Governor of +the Province of Tula; Uncle Sasha Behrs and his young wife, the +handsome Georgian Patty; and the whole family of the +Kuzminskys, were staying at Yasnaya. + +Aunt Tanya was asked to sing. We listened with +beating hearts, and waited to hear what Turgenieff, the +famous connoisseur, would say about her singing. Of course he +praised it, sincerely, I think. After the singing a quadrille was +got up. All of a sudden, in the middle of the quadrille, +Ivan Sergeyevitch, who was sitting at one side +looking on, got up and took one of the ladies by the hand, and, +putting his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat, danced a +cancan according to the latest rules of Parisian art. Everyone +roared with laughter, Turgenieff more than anybody. + +After tea the "grown-ups" started some conversation, and a +warm dispute arose among them. It was Prince Uru;sof who +disputed most warmly, and "went for" Turgenieff. + +Of Turgenieff's third visit I remember the woodcock +shooting. This was on the second or third of May, 1880. + +We all went out together beyond the Voronka, my father, my +mother and all the children. My father gave Turgenieff the +best place and posted himself one hundred and fifty paces away at +the other end of the same glade. + +My mother stood by Turgenieff, and we children lighted +a bonfire not far off. + +My father fired several shots and brought down two birds; +Ivan Sergeyevitch had no luck, and was envying my +father's good fortune all the time. At last, when it was beginning +to get dark, a woodcock flew over Turgenieff, and he shot +it. + +"Killed it?" called out my father. + +"Fell like a stone; send your dog to pick him up," answered +Ivan Sergeyevitch. + +My father sent us with the dog, Turgenieff showed us +where to look for the bird; but search as we might, and the dog, +too, there was no woodcock to be found. At last Turgenieff +came to help, and my father came; there was no woodcock there. + +"Perhaps you only winged it; it may have got away along the +ground," said my father, puzzled. "It is impossible that the dog +shouldn't find it; he couldn't miss a bird that was killed." + +"I tell you I saw it with my own eyes, Lyoff Nikolaievich; it +fell like a stone. I didn't wound it; I killed it outright. I can +tell the difference." + +"Then why can't the dog find it? It's impossible; there's +something wrong." + +"I don't know anything about that," insisted +Turgenieff. "You may take it from me I'm not lying; it fell +like a stone where I tell you." + +There was no finding the woodcock, and the incident left an +unpleasant flavor, as if one or the other of them was in the wrong. +Either Turgenieff was bragging when he said that he shot it +dead, or my father, in maintaining that the dog could not fail to +find a bird that had been killed. + +And this must needs happen just when they were both so anxious +to avoid every sort of misunderstanding! That was the very reason +why they had carefully fought shy of all serious conversation, and +spent all their time merely amusing themselves. + +When my father said good night to us that night, he whispered +to us that we were to get up early and go back to the place to have +a good hunt for the bird. + +And what was the result? The woodcock, in falling, had caught +in the fork of a branch, right at the top of an aspen-tree, and it +was all we could do to knock it out from there. + +When we brought it home in triumph, it was something of an +"occasion," and my father and Turgenieff were far more +delighted than we were. It turned out that they were both in the +right, and everything ended to their mutual satisfaction. + +Ivan Sergeyevitch slept down-stairs in my +father's study. When the party broke up for the night, I used to +see him to his room, and while he was undressing I sat on his bed +and talked sport with him. + +He asked me if I could shoot. I said yes, but that I didn't +care to go out shooting because I had nothing but a rotten old +one-barreled gun. + +"I'll give you a gun," he said. "I've got two in Paris, and +I have no earthly need for both. It's not an expensive gun, but +it's a good one. Next time I come to Russia I'll bring it with +me." + +I was quite taken aback and thanked him heartily. I was +tremendously delighted at the idea that I was to have a real +central-fire gun. + +Unfortunately, Turgenieff never came to Russia again. +I tried afterward to buy the gun he had spoken of from his legatees +not in the quality of a central-fire gun, but as +Turgenieff's gun; but I did not succeed. + +That is all that I can remember about this delightful, +naively cordial man, with the childlike eyes and the childlike +laugh, and in the picture my mind preserves of him the memory of +his grandeur melts into the charm of his good nature and +simplicity. + +In 1883 my father received from Ivan +Sergeyevitch his last farewell letter, written in pencil on +his death-bed, and I remember with what emotion he read it. +And when the news of his death came, my father would talk of +nothing else for several days, and inquired everywhere for details +of his illness and last days. + +Apropos of this letter of Turgenieff's, I should like +to say that my father was sincerely annoyed, when he heard applied +to himself the epithet "great writer of the land of Russia," which +was taken from this letter. + +He always hated cliches, and he regarded this +one as quite absurd. + +"Why not 'writer of the land'? I never heard before that a +man could be the writer of a land. People get attached to some +nonsensical expression, and go on repeating it in season and out of +season." + +I have given extracts above from Turgenieff's letters, +which show the invariable consistency with which he lauded my +father's literary talents. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same of +my father's attitude toward Turgenieff. + +In this, too, the want of dispassionateness in his nature +revealed itself. Personal relations prevented him from being +objective. + +In 1867, apropos of Turgenieff's "Smoke," which had +just appeared, he wrote to Fet: + + +There is hardly any love of anything in "Smoke" and hardly any +poetry. The only thing it shows love for is light and playful +adultery, and for that reason the poetry of the story is repulsive. +. . . I am timid in expressing this opinion, because I cannot form +a sober judgment about an author whose personality I dislike. + +In 1865, before the final breach with Turgenieff, he wrote, +again to Fet: "I do not like 'Enough'! A personal subjective +treatment is never good unless it is full of life and passion; but +the subjectivity in this case is full of lifeless suffering. + +In the autumn of 1883, after Turgenieff's death, when +the family had gone into Moscow for the winter, my father stayed at +Yasnaya Polyana alone, with Agafya +Mikhailovna, and set earnestly about reading through all +Turgenieff's works. + +This is what he wrote to my mother at the time: + + +I am always thinking about Turgenieff. I am intensely +fond of him, and sorry for him, and do nothing but read him. I +live entirely with him. I shall certainly give a lecture on him, +or write it to be read; tell Yuryef. + +"Enough"--read it; it is perfectly charming. + + +Unfortunately, my father's intended lecture on +Turgenieff never came off. The Government forbade him to +pay this last tribute to his dead friend, with whom he had +quarreled all his life only because he could not be indifferent to +him. + + + (To be continued) + + + + + + REMINISCENCES OF TOLSTOY + + + BY HIS SON, COUNT ILYa TOLSTOY + + + TRANSLATED BY GEORGE CALDERON + +AT this point I shall turn back and try to trace the influence +which my father had on my upbringing, and I shall recall as well as +I can the impressions that he left on my mind in my childhood, and +later in the melancholy days of my early manhood, which happened to +coincide with the radical change in his whole philosophy of life. + +In 1852, tired of life in the Caucasus and remembering his old +home at Yasnaya Polyana, he wrote to his aunt, +Tatyana Alexandrovna: + +After some years, I shall find myself, neither very young nor very +old, back at Yasnaya Polyana again: my affairs will +all be in order; I shall have no anxieties for the future and +no troubles in the present. + +You also will be living at Yasnaya. You will be +getting a little old, but you will be healthy and vigorous. We +shall lead the life we led in the old days; I shall work in the +mornings, but we shall meet and see each other almost all day. + +We shall dine together in the evening. I shall read you +something that interests you. Then we shall talk: I shall tell you +about my life in the Caucasus; you will give me reminiscences of my +father and mother; you will tell me some of those "terrible +stories" to which we used to listen in the old days with frightened +eyes and open mouths. + +We shall talk about the people that we loved and who are no +more. + +You will cry, and I, too; but our tears will be refreshing, +tranquilizing tears. We shall talk about my brothers, who will +visit us from time to time, and about dear Masha, who will also +spend several months every year at Yasnaya, which she loves, +with all her children. + +We shall have no acquaintances; no one will come in to bore us +with gossip. + +It is a wonderful dream; but that is not all that I let myself +dream of. + + I shall be married. My wife will be gentle, kind, and +affectionate; she will love you as I do; we shall have children who +will call you granny; you will live in the big house, in the same +room on the top floor where my grandmother lived before. + +The whole house will be run on the same lines as it was in my +father's time, and we shall begin the same life over again, but +with a change of roles. + + +You will take my grandmother's place, but you will be better +still than she was; I shall take my father's place, though I can +never hope to be worthy of the honor. + +My wife will take my mother's place, and the children ours. + +Masha will fill the part of both my aunts, except for their +sorrow; and there will even be Gasha there to take the place of +Prashovya Ilyinitchna. + +The only thing lacking will be some one to take the part you +played in the life of our family. We shall never find such a noble +and loving heart as yours. There is no one to succeed you. + +There will be three new faces that will appear among us from +time to time: my brothers, especially one who will often be with +us, Nikolenka, who will be an old bachelor, bald, retired, +always the same kindly, noble fellow. + + +Just ten years after this letter, my father married, and +almost all his dreams were realized, just as he had wished. Only +the big house, with his grandmother's room, was missing, and his +brother Nikolenka, with the dirty hands, for he died two +years before, in 1860. In his family life my father witnessed a +repetition of the life of his parents, and in us children he sought +to find a repetition of himself and his brothers. We were brought +up as regular gentlefolk, proud of our social position and holding +aloof from all the outer world. Everything that was not us was +below us, and therefore unworthy of imitation. I knew that my +father felt very earnestly about the chastity of young +people; I knew how much strength he laid on purity. An early +marriage seemed to me the best solution of the difficult question +that must harass every thoughtful boy when he attains to man's +estate. + +Two or three years later, when I was eighteen and we were +living in Moscow, I fell in love with a young lady I knew, my +present wife, and went almost every Saturday to her father's house. + +My father knew, but said nothing. One day when he was going +out for a walk I asked if I might go with him. As I very seldom +went for walks with him in Moscow, he guessed that I wanted to have +a serious talk with him about something, and after walking some +distance in silence, evidently feeling that I was shy about it and +did not like to break the ice, he suddenly began: + +"You seem to go pretty often to the F----s'." + +I said that I was very fond of the eldest daughter. + +"Oh, do you want to marry her?" + +"Yes." + +"Is she a good girl? Well, mind you don't make a mistake, and +don't be false to her," he said with a curious gentleness and +thoughtfulness. + +I left him at once and ran back home, delighted, along the +Arbat. I was glad that I had told him the truth, and his +affectionate and cautious way of taking it strengthened my +affection both for him, to whom I was boundlessly grateful for his +cordiality, and for her, whom I loved still more warmly from that +moment, and to whom I resolved still more fervently never to be +untrue. + +My father's tactfulness toward us amounted almost to timidity. +There were certain questions which he could never bring himself to +touch on for fear of causing us pain. I shall never forget how +once in Moscow I found him sitting writing at the table in my room +when I dashed in suddenly to change my clothes. + +My bed stood behind a screen, which hid him from me. + +When he heard my footsteps he said, without looking round: + +"Is that you, Ilya?" + +"Yes, it's I." + +"Are you alone? Shut the door. There's no one to hear us, +and we can't see each other, so we shall not feel ashamed. Tell +me, did you ever have anything to do with women?" + +When I said no, I suddenly heard him break out sobbing, like +a little child. + +I sobbed and cried, too, and for a long time we stayed weeping +tears of joy, with the screen between us, and we were neither of us +ashamed, but both so joyful that I look on that moment as one of +the happiest in my whole life. + +No arguments or homilies could ever have effected what the +emotion I experienced at that moment did. Such tears as those shed +by a father of sixty can never be forgotten even in moments of the +strongest temptation. + +My father observed my inward life most attentively between the +ages of sixteen and twenty, noted all my doubts and hesitations, +encouraged me in my good impulses, and often found fault with me +for inconsistency. + +I still have some of his letters written at that time. Here +are two: + + +I had just written you, my dear friend Ilya, a letter +that was true to my own feelings, but, I am afraid, unjust, and I +am not sending it. I said unpleasant things in it, but I have no +right to do so. I do not know you as I should like to and as I +ought to know you. That is my fault. And I wish to remedy it. I +know much in you that I do not like, but I do not know everything. +As for your proposed journey home, I think that in your position +of student, not only student of a gymnase, but at the age of study, +it is better to gad about as little as possible; moreover, all +useless expenditure of money that you can easily refrain from is +immoral, in my opinion, and in yours, too, if you only consider it. +If you come, I shall be glad for my own sake, so long as you are +not inseparable from G----. + +Do as you think best. But you must work, both with your head, +thinking and reading, and with your heart; that is, find out for +yourself what is really good and what is bad, although it seems to +be good. I kiss you. + + L. T. + +Dear Friend Ilya: + +There is always somebody or something that prevents me from +answering your two letters, which are important and dear to me, +especially the last. First it was Baturlin, then +bad health, insomnia, then the arrival of D----, the friend of +H---- that I wrote you about. He is sitting at tea talking to the +ladies, neither understanding the other; so I left them, and want +to write what little I can of all that I think about you. + +Even supposing that S---- A---- demands too much of you, [19] +there is no harm in waiting; especially from the point of view of +fortifying your opinions, your faith. That is the one important +thing. If you don't, it is a fearful disaster to put off from one +shore and not reach the other. + +[19] I had written to my father that my fiancee's +mother would not let me marry for two years. + + +The one shore is an honest and good life, for your own delight +and the profit of others. But there is a bad life, too--a life so +sugared, so common to all, that if you follow it, you do not notice +that it is a bad life, and suffer only in your conscience, if you +have one; but if you leave it, and do not reach the real shore, you +will be made miserable by solitude and by the reproach of having +deserted your fellows, and you will be ashamed. In short, I want +to say that it is out of the question to want to be rather good; it +is out of the question to jump into the water unless you know how +to swim. One must be truthful and wish to be good with all one's +might, too. Do you feel this in you? The drift of what I say is +that we all know what PRINCESS MARYA ALEXEVNA +[20] verdict about your marriage would be: +that if young people marry without a sufficient fortune, it means +children, poverty, getting tired of each other in a year or two; in +ten years, quarrels, want--hell. And in all this PRINCESS +MARYA ALEXEVNA is perfectly right and plays the +true prophet, unless these young people who are getting married +have another purpose, their one and only one, unknown to +PRINCESS MARYA ALEXEVNA, and that not a +brainish purpose, not one recognized by the intellect, but one +that gives life its color and the attainment of which is more +moving than any other. If you have this, good; marry at once, and +give the lie to PRINCESS MARYA ALEXEVNA. If +not, it is a hundred to one that your marriage will lead to nothing +but misery. I am speaking to you from the bottom of my heart. +Receive my words into the bottom of yours, and weigh them well. +Besides love for you as a son, I have love for you also as a man +standing at the cross-ways. I kiss you and Lyolya and +Noletchka and Seryozha, if he is back. We are all +alive and well. + +[20] My father took Griboyehof's PRINCESS +MARYA ALEXEVNA as a type. The allusion here is +to the last words of Griboyehof's famous comedy, "The +Misfortune of Cleverness," "What will PRINCESS MARYA +ALEXEVNA say?" + + +The following letter belongs to the same period: + + +Your letter to Tanya has arrived, my dear friend +Ilya, and I see that you are still advancing toward that +purpose which you set up for yourself; and I want to write to you +and to her--for no doubt you tell her everything--what I think +about it. Well, I think about it a great deal, with joy and with +fear mixed. This is what I think. If one marries in order to +enjoy oneself more, no good will ever come of it. To set up as +one's main object, ousting everything else, marriage, union with +the being you love, is a great mistake. And an obvious one, if you +think about it. Object, marriage. Well, you marry; and what then? +If you had no other object in life before your marriage, it will be +twice as hard to find one. + +As a rule, people who are getting married completely forget +this. + +So many joyful events await them in the future, in wedlock and +the arrival of children, that those events seem to constitute life +itself. But this is indeed a dangerous illusion. + +If parents merely live from day to day, begetting children, +and have no purpose in life, they are only putting off the question +of the purpose of life and that punishment which is allotted to +people who live without knowing why; they are only putting it off +and not escaping it, because they will have to bring up their +children and guide their steps, but they will have nothing to guide +them by. And then the parents lose their human qualities and the +happiness which depends on the possession of them, and turn into +mere breeding cattle. + +That is why I say that people who are proposing to marry +because their life SEEMS to them to be full must more than +ever set themselves to think and make clear to their own minds for +the sake of what each of them lives. + +And in order to make this clear, you must consider the +circumstances in which you live, your past. Reckon up what you +consider important and what unimportant in life. Find out what you believe +in; that is, what you look on as eternal and immutable truth, and +what you will take for your guide in life. And not only find out, +but make clear to your own mind, and try to practise or to learn to +practise in your daily life; because until you practise what you +believe you cannot tell whether you believe it or not. + +I know your faith, and that faith, or those sides of it which +can be expressed in deeds, you must now more than ever make clear +to your own mind, by putting them into practice. + +Your faith is that your welfare consists in loving people and +being loved by them. For the attainment of this end I know of +three lines of action in which I perpetually exercise myself, in +which one can never exercise oneself enough and which are specially +necessary to you now. + +First, in order to be able to love people and to be loved by +them, one must accustom oneself to expect as little as possible +from them, and that is very hard work; for if I expect much, and +am often disappointed, I am inclined rather to reproach them than +to love them. + +Second, in order to love people not in words, but in deed, one +must train oneself to do what benefits them. That needs still +harder work, especially at your age, when it is one's natural +business to be studying. + +Third, in order to love people and to b. l. b. t., [21] one +must train oneself to gentleness, humility, the art of bearing with +disagreeable people and things, the art of behaving to them so as +not to offend any one, of being able to choose the least offense. +And this is the hardest work of all--work that never ceases from +the time you wake till the time you go to sleep, and the most +joyful work of all, because day after day you rejoice in your +growing success in it, and receive a further reward, unperceived +at first, but very joyful after, in being loved by others. + + + [21] Be loved by them. + + +So I advise you, Friend Ilya, and both of you, to live +and to think as sincerely as you can, because it is the only way +you can discover if you are really going along the same road, and +whether it is wise to join hands or not; and at the same time, if +you are sincere, you must be making your future ready. + +Your purpose in life must not be the joy of wedlock, but, by +your life to bring more love and truth into the world. The object +of marriage is to help one another in the attainment of that +purpose. + +The vilest and most selfish life is the life of the people who +have joined together only in order to enjoy life; and the highest +vocation in the world is that of those who live in order to serve +God by bringing good into the world, and who have joined together +for that very purpose. Don't mistake half-measures for the real +thing. Why should a man not choose the highest? Only when you +have chosen the highest, you must set your whole heart on it, and +not just a little. Just a little leads to nothing. There, I am +tired of writing, and still have much left that I wanted to say. +I kiss you. + + + + HELP FOR THE FAMINE-STRICKEN + +AFTER my father had come to the conclusion that it was not only +useless to help people with money, but immoral, the part he took in +distributing food among the peasants during the famines of 1890, +1891, and 1898 may seem to have shown inconsistency and +contradiction of thought. + +"If a horseman sees that his horse is tired out, he must not +remain seated on its back and hold up its head, but simply get +off," he used to say, condemning all the charities of the well-fed +people who sit on the back of the working classes, continue to +enjoy all the benefits of their privileged position, and merely +give from their superfluity. + +He did not believe in the good of such charity and considered +it a form of self-hallucination, all the more harmful because +people thereby acquire a sort of moral right to continue that idle, +aristocratic life and get to go on increasing the poverty of the +people. + +In the autumn of 1890 my father thought of writing an article +on the famine, which had then spread over nearly all Russia. + +Although from the newspapers and from the accounts brought by +those who came from the famine-stricken parts he already knew about +the extent of the peasantry's disaster, nevertheless, when his old +friend Ivanovitch Rayovsky called on him at +Yasnaya Polyana and proposed that he should drive +through to the Dankovski District with him in order to see the state of +things in the villages for himself, he readily agreed, and went with him +to his property at Begitchovka. + +He went there with the intention of staying only for a day or +two; but when he saw what a call there was for immediate measures, +he at once set to work to help Rayovsky, who had already +instituted several kitchens in the villages, in relieving the +distress of the peasantry, at first on a small scale, and then, +when big subscriptions began to pour in from every side, on a +continually increasing one. The upshot of it was that he devoted +two whole years of his life to the work. + +It is wrong to think that my father showed any inconsistency +in this matter. He did not delude himself for a moment into +thinking he was engaged on a virtuous and momentous task, but when +he saw the sufferings of the people, he simply could not bear to go +on living comfortably at Yasnaya or in Moscow any longer, +but had to go out and help in order to relieve his own feelings. +Once he wrote: + + +There is much about it that is not what it ought to be; there +is S. A.'s money [22] and the subscriptions; there is the relation +of those who feed and those who are fed. THERE IS SIN WITHOUT +END, but I cannot stay at home and write. I feel the necessity +of taking part in it, of doing something. + +[22] His wife's. + + +Six years later I worked again at the same job with my father +in Tchornski and Mtsenski districts. + +After the bad crops of the two preceding years it became clear +by the beginning of the winter of 1898 that a new famine was +approaching in our neighborhood, and that charitable assistance to +the peasantry would be needed. I turned to my father for help. By +the spring he had managed to collect some money, and at the +beginning of April he came himself to see me. + +I must say that my father, who was very economical by nature, +was extraordinarily cautious and, I may say, even parsimonious in +charitable matters. It is of course easy to understand, if one +considers the unlimited confidence which he enjoyed among the +subscribers and the great moral responsibility which he could not +but feel toward them. So that before undertaking anything he had +himself to be fully convinced of the necessity of giving aid. + +The day after his arrival, we saddled a couple of horses and +rode out. We rode as we had ridden together twenty years before, +when we went out coursing with our greyhounds; that is, across +country, over the fields. + +It was all the same to me which way we rode, as I believed +that all the neighboring villages were equally distressed, and +my father, for the sake of old memories, wanted to revisit +Spasskoye Lyutovinovo, which was only six miles from +me, and where he had not been since Turgenieff's death. On +the way there I remember he told me all about Turgenieff's +mother, who was famous through all the neighborhood for her +remarkable intelligence, energy, and craziness. I do not know that +he ever saw her himself, or whether he was telling me only the +reports that he had heard. + +As we rode across the Turgenieff's park, he +recalled in passing how of old he and Ivan Sergeyevitch had +disputed which park was best, Spasskoye or Yasnaya +Polyana. I asked him: + +"And now which do you think?" + +"Yasnaya Polyana IS the best, though this +is very fine, very fine indeed." + +In the village we visited the head-man's and two or three +other cottages, and came away disappointed. There was no famine. + +The peasants, who had been endowed at the emancipation with a +full share of good land, and had enriched themselves since by +wage-earnings, were hardly in want at all. It is true that some of +the yards were badly stocked; but there was none of that acute +degree of want which amounts to famine and which strikes the eye at +once. + +I even remember my father reproaching me a little for having +sounded the alarm when there was no sufficient cause for it, and +for a little while I felt rather ashamed and awkward before him. + +Of course when he talked to the peasants he asked each of them +if he remembered Turgenieff and eagerly picked up anything +they had to say about him. Some of the old men remembered him and +spoke of him with great affection. + + + + MY FATHER'S ILLNESS IN THE CRIMEA + +IN the autumn of 1901 my father was attacked by persistent +feverishness, and the doctors advised him to spend the winter in +the Crimea. Countess Panina kindly lent him her Villa Gaspra, near +Koreiz, and he spent the winter there. + +Soon after his arrival, he caught cold and had two illnesses +one after the other, enteric fever and inflammation of the lungs. +At one time his condition was so bad that the doctors had hardly +any hope that he would ever rise from his bed again. Despite the +fact that his temperature went up very high, he was conscious all +the time; he dictated some reflections every day, and deliberately +prepared for death. + +The whole family was with him, and we all took turns in +helping to nurse him. I look back with pleasure on the nights when +it fell to me to be on duty by him, and I sat in the balcony by +the open window, listening to his breathing and every sound in his +room. My chief duty, as the strongest of the family, was to lift +him up while the sheets were being changed. When they were making +the bed, I had to hold him in my arms like a child. + +I remember how my muscles quivered one day with the exertion. +He looked at me with astonishment and said: + +"You surely don't find me heavy? What nonsense!" + +I thought of the day when he had given me a bad time at riding +in the woods as a boy, and kept asking, "You're not tired?" + +Another time during the same illness he wanted me to carry him +down-stairs in my arms by the winding stone staircase. + +"Pick me up as they do a baby and carry me." + +He had not a grain of fear that I might stumble and kill him. +It was all I could do to insist on his being carried down in an +arm-chair by three of us. + +Was my father afraid of death? + +It is impossible to answer the question in one word. With his +tough constitution and physical strength, he always instinctively +fought not only against death, but against old age. Till the last +year of his life he never gave in, but always did everything for +himself and even rode on horseback. + +To suppose, therefore, that he had no instinctive fear of +death is out of the question. He had that fear, and in a very +high degree, but he was constantly fighting to overcome it. + +Did he succeed? + +I can answer definitely yes. During his illness he talked a +great deal of death and prepared himself for it firmly and +deliberately. When he felt that he was getting weaker, he wished +to say good-by to everybody, and he called us all separately to his +bedside, one after the other, and gave his last words of advice to +each. He was so weak that he spoke in a half-whisper, and when he +had said good-by to one, he had to rest for a while and collect his +strength for the rest. + +When my turn came, he said as nearly as I can remember: + +"You are still young and strong and tossed by storms of +passion. You have not therefore yet been able to think over the +chief questions of life. But this stage will pass. I am sure of +it. When the time comes, believe me, you will find the truth in +the teachings of the Gospel. I am dying peacefully simply because +I have come to know that teaching and believe in it. May God grant +you this knowledge soon! Good-by." + +I kissed his hand and left the room quietly. When I got to +the front door, I rushed to a lonely stone tower, and there sobbed +my heart out in the darkness like a child. Looking round at last, +I saw that some one else was sitting on the staircase near me, also +crying. + +So I said farewell to my father years before his death, and +the memory of it is dear to me, for I know that if I had seen him +before his death at Astapova he would have said just the same to +me. + +To return to the question of death, I will say that so far +from being afraid of it, in his last days he often desired it; he +was more interested in it than afraid of it. This "greatest of +mysteries" interested him to such a degree that his interest came +near to love. How eagerly he listened to accounts of the death of +his friends, Turgenieff, Gay, Leskof, [23] +Zhemtchuzhnikof [24]; and others! He inquired after the +smallest matters; no detail, however trifling in appearance, was +without its interest and importance to him. + +[23] A novelist, died 1895. + +[24] One of the authors of "Junker Schmidt." + + +His "Circle of Reading," November 7, the day he died, is +devoted entirely to thoughts on death. + +"Life is a dream, death is an awakening," he wrote, while in +expectation of that awakening. + +Apropos of the "Circle of Reading," I cannot refrain from +relating a characteristic incident which I was told by one of my +sisters. + +When my father had made up his mind to compile that collection +of the sayings of the wise, to which he gave the name of "Circle +of Reading," he told one of his friends about it. + +A few days afterward this friend came to see him again, and at +once told him that he and his wife had been thinking over his +scheme for the new book and had come to the conclusion that he +ought to call it "For Every Day," instead of "Circle of Reading." + +To this my father replied that he preferred the title "Circle +of Reading" because the word "circle" suggested the idea of +continuous reading, which was what he meant to express by the +title. + +Half an hour later the friend came across the room to him and +repeated exactly the same remark again. This time my father made +no reply. In the evening, when the friend was preparing to go +home, as he was saying good-by to my father, he held his hand in +his and began once more: + +"Still, I must tell you, Lyoff Nikolaievich, that I and my +wife have been thinking it over, and we have come to the +conclusion," and so on, word for word the same. + +"No, no, I want to die--to die as soon as possible," groaned +my father when he had seen the friend off. + +"Isn't it all the same whether it's 'Circle of Reading' or +'For Every Day'? No, it's time for me to die: I cannot live like +this any longer." + +And, after all, in the end, one of the editions of the sayings +of the wise was called "For Every Day" instead of "Circle of +Reading." + +"Ah, my dear, ever since this Mr. ---- turned up, I really +don't know which of Lyoff Nikolaievich's writings are by Lyoff +Nikolaievich and which are by Mr. ----!" murmured our old friend, +the pure-hearted and far from malicious Marya +Alexandrovna Schmidt. + +This sort of intrusion into my father's work as an author +bore, in the "friend's" language, the modest title of "corrections +beforehand," and there is no doubt that Marya +Alexandrovna was right, for no one will ever know where what +my father wrote ends and where his concessions to Mr. ----'s +persistent "corrections beforehand" begin, all the more as this +careful adviser had the forethought to arrange that when my father +answered his letters he was always to return him the letters they +were answers to.[25] + +[25] The curious may be disposed to trace to some such +"corrections beforehand" the remarkable discrepancy of style and +matter which distinguishes some of Tolstoy's later works, published +after his death by Mr. Tchertkof and his literary executors. + + +Besides the desire for death that my father displayed, in the +last years of his life he cherished another dream, which he made no +secret of his hope of realizing, and that was the desire to suffer +for his convictions. The first impulse in this direction was given +him by the persecution on the part of the authorities to which, +during his lifetime, many of his friends and fellow-thinkers were +subjected. + +When he heard of any one being put in jail or deported for +disseminating his writings, he was so disturbed about it that one +was really sorry for him. I remember my arrival at Yasnaya +some days after Gusef's arrest.[26] I stayed two days with +my father, and heard of nothing but Gusef. As if there were +nobody in the world but Gusef! I must confess that, sorry +as I was for Gusef, who was shut up at the time in the local +prison at Krapivna, I harbored a most wicked feeling of resentment +at my father's paying so little attention to me and the rest of +those about him and being so absorbed in the thought of +Gusef. + +[26] Tolstoy's private secretary, arrested and banished in +1908. + + +I willingly acknowledge that I was wrong in entertaining this +narrow-minded feeling. If I had entered fully into what my father +was feeling, I should have seen this at the time. + +As far back as 1896, in consequence of the arrest of a doctor, +Miss N----, in Tula, my father wrote a long letter to Muravyof, the +Minister of Justice, in which he spoke of the "unreasonableness, +uselessness, and cruelty of the measures +taken by the Government against those who disseminate these +forbidden writings," and begged him to "direct the measures taken +to punish or intimidate the perpetrators of the evil, or to put an +end to it, against the man whom you regard as the real instigator +of it . . . all the more, as I assure you beforehand, that I shall +continue without ceasing till my death to do what the Government +considers evil and what I consider my sacred duty before God." + +As every one knows, neither this challenge nor the others that +followed it led to any result, and the arrests and deportations of +those associated with him still went on. + +My father felt himself morally responsible toward all those +who suffered on his account, and every year new burdens were laid +on his conscience. + + + + MASHA'S DEATH + +As I reach the description of the last days of my father's life, I +must once more make it clear that what I write is based only on the +personal impressions I received in my periodical visits to +Yasnaya Polyana. + +Unfortunately, I have no rich shorthand material to rely on, +such as Gusef and Bulgakof had for their memoirs, and +more especially Dushan Petrovitch Makowicki, who is +preparing, I am told, a big and conscientious work, full of truth +and interest. + +In November, 1906, my sister Masha died of inflammation of the +lungs. It is a curious thing that she vanished out of life with +just as little commotion as she had passed through it. Evidently +this is the lot of all the pure in heart. + +No one was particularly astonished by her death. I remember +that when I received the telegram, I felt no surprise. It seemed +perfectly natural to me. Masha had married a kinsman of ours, +Prince Obolenski; she lived on her own estate at +Pirogovo, twenty-one miles from us, and spent half the year +with her husband at Yasnaya. She was very delicate and had +constant illnesses. + +When I arrived at Yasnaya the day after her death, I +was aware of an atmosphere of exaltation and prayerful emotion +about the whole family, and it was then I think for the first time +that I realized the full grandeur and beauty of death. + +I definitely felt that by her death Masha, so far from having +gone away from us, had come nearer to us, and had been, as it were, +welded to us forever in a way that she never could have been during +her lifetime. + +I observed the same frame of mind in my father. He went about +silent and woebegone, summoning all his strength to battle with his +own sorrow; but I never heard him utter a murmur of a complaint, +only words of tender emotion. When the coffin was carried to the +church he changed his clothes and went with the cortege. +When he reached the stone pillars he stopped us, said farewell to +the departed, and walked home along the avenue. I looked after him +and watched him walk away across the wet, thawing snow with his +short, quick old man's steps, turning his toes out at a sharp +angle, as he always did, and never once looking round. + +My sister Masha had held a position of great importance in my +father's life and in the life of the whole family. Many a time in +the last few years have we had occasion to think of her and to +murmur sadly: "If only Masha had been with us! If only Masha had +not died!" + +In order to explain the relations between Masha and my father +I must turn back a considerable way. There was one distinguishing +and, at first sight, peculiar trait in my father's character, due +perhaps to the fact that he grew up without a mother, and that was +that all exhibitions of tenderness were entirely foreign to him. + +I say "tenderness" in contradistinction to heartiness. +Heartiness he had and in a very high degree. + +His description of the death of my Uncle Nikolai is +characteristic in this connection. In a letter to his other +brother, Sergei Nikolayevitch, in which he described +the last day of his brother's life, my father tells how he helped +him to undress. + +"He submitted, and became a different man. . . . He had a +word of praise for everybody, and said to me, 'Thanks, my friend.' +You understand the significance of the words as between us two." + +It is evident that in the language of the Tolstoy brothers the +phrase "my friend" was an expression of tenderness beyond which +imagination could not go. The words astonished my father even on +the lips of his dying brother. + +During all his lifetime I never received any mark of +tenderness from him whatever. + +He was not fond of kissing children, and when he did so in +saying good morning or good night, he did it merely as a duty. + +It is therefore easy to understand that he did not provoke any +display of tenderness toward himself, and that nearness and +dearness with him were never accompanied by any outward +manifestations. + +It would never have come into my head, for instance, to walk +up to my father and kiss him or to stroke his hand. I was partly +prevented also from that by the fact that I always looked up to him +with awe, and his spiritual power, his greatness, prevented me from +seeing in him the mere man--the man who was so plaintive and weary +at times, the feeble old man who so much needed warmth and rest. + +The only person who could give him that warmth was Masha. + +She would go up to him, stroke his hand, caress him, and say +something affectionate, and you could see that he liked it, was +happy, and even responded in kind. It was as if he became a +different man with her. Why was it that Masha was able to do this, +while no one else even dared to try? If any other of us had done +it, it would have seemed unnatural, but Masha could do it with +perfect simplicity and sincerity. + +I do not mean to say that others about my father loved him +less than Masha; not at all; but the display of love for him was +never so warm and at the same time so natural with any one else as +with her. + +So that with Masha's death my father was deprived of this +natural source of warmth, which, with advancing years, had become +more and more of a necessity for him. + +Another and still greater power that she possessed was her +remarkably delicate and sensitive conscience. This trait in her +was still dearer to my father than her caresses. + +How good she was at smoothing away all misunderstandings! How +she always stood up for those who were found any fault with, justly +or unjustly! It was all the same to her. Masha could reconcile +everybody and everything. + +During the last years of his life my father's health +perceptibly grew worse. Several times he had the most sudden and +inexplicable sort of fainting fits, from which he used to recover +the next day, but completely lost his memory for a time. + +Seeing my brother Andrei's children, who were staying +at Yasnaya, in the zala one day, he asked with some +surprise, "Whose children are these?" Meeting my wife, he said, +"Don't be offended, my dear; I know that I am very fond of you, but +I have quite forgotten who you are"; and when he went up to the +zala after one of these fainting fits, he looked round with +an astonished air and said, "Where's my brother Nitenka." +Nitenka had died fifty years before. + +The day following all traces of the attack would disappear. + +During one of these fainting fits my brother Sergei, in +undressing my father, found a little note-book on him. He put it +in his own pocket, and next day, when he came to see my father, he +handed it back to him, telling him that he had not read it. + +"There would have been no harm in YOUR seeing it," said +my father, as he took it back. + +This little diary in which he wrote down his most secret +thoughts and prayers was kept "for himself alone," and he never +showed it to any one. I saw it after my father's death. It is +impossible to read it without tears. + +It is curious that the sudden decay of my father's memory +displayed itself only in the matter of real facts and people. He +was entirely unaffected in his literary work, and everything that +he wrote down to the last days of his life is marked by his +characteristic logicalness and force. It may be that the reason he +forgot the details of real life was because he was too deeply +absorbed in his abstract work. + +My wife was at Yasnaya Polyana in October, and +when she came home she told me that there was something wrong +there. "Your mother is nervous and hysterical; your father is in +a silent and gloomy frame of mind." + +I was very busy with my office work, but made up my mind to +devote my first free day to going and seeing my father and mother. + +When I got to Yasnaya, my father had already left it. + +I paid Aunt Masha a visit some little time after my father's +funeral. We sat together in her comfortable little cell, and she +repeated to me once more in detail the oft-repeated story of my +father's last visit to her. + +"He sat in that very arm-chair where you are sitting now, and +how he cried!" she said. + +"When Sasha arrived with her girl friend, they set to work +studying this map of Russia and planning out a route to the +Caucasus. Lyovotchka sat there thoughtful and melancholy. + +"'Never mind, Papa; it'll be all right,' said Sasha, trying to +encourage him. + +"'Ah, you women, you women!' answered her father, bitterly. +'How can it ever be all right?' + +"I so much hoped that he would settle down here; it would just +have suited him. And it was his own idea, too; he had even taken +a cottage in the village," Aunt Masha sadly recalled. + +"When he left me to go back to the hotel where he was staying, +it seemed to me that he was rather calmer. + +"When he said good-by, he even made some joke about his having +come to the wrong door. + +"I certainly would never have imagined that he would go away +again that same night." + +It was a grievous trial for Aunt Masha when the old confessor +Iosif, who was her spiritual director, forbade her to pray for her +dead brother because he had been excommunicated. She was too +broad-minded to be able to reconcile herself to the harsh +intolerance of the church, and for a time she was honestly +indignant. Another priest to whom she applied also refused her +request. + +Marya Nikolayevna could not bring herself to +disobey her spiritual fathers, but at the same time she felt that +she was not really obeying their injunction, for she prayed for him +all the same, in thought, if not in words. + +There is no knowing how her internal discord would have ended +if her father confessor, evidently understanding the moral torment +she was suffering, had not given her permission to pray for her +brother, but only in her cell and in solitude, so as not to lead +others astray. + + + + MY FATHER'S WILL. CONCLUSION + +ALTHOUGH my father had long since renounced the copyright in all +his works written after 1883, and although, after having made all +his real estate over to his children, he had, as a matter of fact, +no property left, still he could not but be aware that his life was +far from corresponding to his principles, and this consciousness +perpetually preyed upon his mind. One has only to read some of his +posthumous works attentively to see that the idea of leaving home +and radically altering his whole way of life had presented itself +to him long since and was a continual temptation to him. + +This was the cherished dream that always allured him, but +which he did not think himself justified in putting into practice. + +The life of the Christian must be a "reasonable and happy life +IN ALL POSSIBLE CIRCUMSTANCES," he used to say as he +struggled with the temptation to go away, and gave up his own soul +for others. + +I remember reading in Gusef's memoirs how my father +once, in conversation with Gusoryof, the peasant, who had +made up his mind to leave his home for religious reasons, said, "My +life is a hundred thousand times more loathsome than yours, but yet +I cannot leave it." + +I shall not enumerate all the letters of abuse and amazement +which my father received from all sides, upbraiding him with +luxury, with inconsistency, and even with torturing his peasants. +It is easy to imagine what an impression they made on him. + +He said there was good reason to revile him; he called their +abuse "a bath for the soul," but internally he suffered from the +"bath," and saw no way out of his difficulties. He bore his cross, +and it was in this self-renunciation that his power consisted, +though many either could not or would not understand it. He alone, +despite all those about him, knew that this cross was laid on him +not of man, but of God; and while he was strong, he loved his +burden and shared it with none. + +Just as thirty years before he had been haunted by the +temptation to suicide, so now he struggled with a new and more +powerful temptation, that of flight. + +A few days before he left Yasnaya he called on +Marya Alexandrovna Schmidt at Ovsyanniki and +confessed to her that he wanted to go away. + +The old lady held up her hands in horror and said: + + "Gracious Heavens, Lyoff Nikolaievich, have you come to such +a pitch of weakness?" + +When I learned, on October 28, 1910, that my father had left +Yasnaya, the same idea occurred to me, and I even put it +into words in a letter I sent to him at Shamerdino by my sister +Sasha. + +I did not know at the time about certain circumstances which +have since made a great deal clear to me that was obscure before. + +From the moment of my father's death till now I have been +racking my brains to discover what could have given him the impulse +to take that last step. What power could compel him to yield in +the struggle in which he had held firmly and tenaciously for many +years? What was the last drop, the last grain of sand that turned +the scales, and sent him forth to search for a new life on the very +edge of the grave? + +Could he really have fled from home because the wife that he +had lived with for forty-eight years had developed neurasthenia and +at one time showed certain abnormalities characteristic of that +malady? Was that like the man who so loved his fellows and so well +knew the human heart? Or did he suddenly desire, when he was +eighty-three, and weak and helpless, to realize the idea of a +pilgrim's life? + +If so, why did he take my sister Sasha and Dr. Makowicki with +him? He could not but know that in their company he would be just +as well provided with all the necessaries of life as he would have +been at Yasnaya Polyana. It would have been the most +palpable self-deception. + +Knowing my father as I did, I felt that the question of his +flight was not so simple as it seemed to others, and the problem +lay long unsolved before me until it was suddenly made clear by the +will that he left behind him. + +I remember how, after N. S. Leskof's death, my father +read me his posthumous instructions with regard to a pauper +funeral, with no speeches at the grave, and so on, and how the +idea of writing his own will then came into his head for the +first time. + +His first will was written in his diary, on March 27, +1895. [27] + + [27] Five weeks after Leskof's death. + + +The fourth paragraph, to which I wish to call particular +attention, contains a request to his next of kin to transfer the +right of publishing his writings to society at large, or, in other +words, to renounce the copyright of them. + +"But I only request it, and do not direct it. It is a good +thing to do. And it will be good for you to do it; but if you do +not do it, that is your affair. It means that you are not yet +ready to do it. The fact that my writings have been bought and +sold during these last ten years has been the most painful thing in +my whole life to me." + +Three copies were made of this will, and they were kept by my +sister Masha, my brother Sergei, and Tchertkof. + +I knew of its existence, but I never saw it till after my +father's death, and I never inquired of anybody about the details. + +I knew my father's views about copyright, and no will of his +could have added anything to what I knew. I knew, moreover, that +this will was not properly executed according to the forms of law, +and personally I was glad of that, for I saw in it another proof of +my father's confidence in his family. I need hardly add that I +never doubted that my father's wishes would be carried out. + +My sister Masha, with whom I once had a conversation on the +subject, was of the same opinion. + +In 1909 my father stayed with Mr. Tchertkof at Krekshin, and +there for the first time he wrote a formal will, attested by the +signature of witnesses. How this will came to be written I do not +know, and I do not intend to discuss it. It afterward appeared +that it also was imperfect from a legal point of view, and in +October, 1909, it had all to be done again. + +As to the writing of the third we are fully informed by Mr. F. +Strakhof in an article which he published in the St. Petersburg +"Gazette" on November 6, 1911. + +Mr. Strakhof left Moscow at night. He had calculated on +Sofya Andreyevna, [28] whose presence at +Yasnaya Polyana was highly inexpedient for the +business on which he was bound, being still in Moscow. + +[28] The Countess Tolstoy. + + +The business in question, as was made clear in the preliminary +consultation which V. G. Tchertkof held with N. K. Muravyof, the +solicitor, consisted in getting fresh signatures from Lyoff +Nikolaievich, whose great age made it desirable to make sure, +without delay, of his wishes being carried out by means of a more +unassailable legal document. Strakhof brought the draft of the +will with him, and laid it before Lyoff Nikolaievich. After +reading the paper through, he at once wrote under it that he agreed +with its purport, and then added, after a pause: + +"All this business is very disagreeable to me, and it is +unnecessary. To insure the propagation of my ideas by taking all +sorts of measures--why, no word can perish without leaving its +trace, if it expresses a truth, and if the man who utters it +believes profoundly in its truth. But all these outward means for +insuring it only come of our disbelief in what we utter." + +And with these words Lyoff Nikolaievich left the study. + +Thereupon Mr. Strakhof began to consider what he must do next, +whether he should go back with empty hands, or whether he should +argue it out. + +He decided to argue it out, and endeavored to explain to my +father how painful it would be for his friends after his death to +hear people blaming him for not having taken any steps, despite his +strong opinion on the subject, to see that his wishes were carried +out, and for having thereby helped to transfer his copyrights to +the members of his family. + +Tolstoy promised to think it over, and left the room again. + +At dinner Sofya Andreyevna "was evidently far +from having any suspicions." When Tolstoy was not by, however, she +asked Mr. Strakhof what he had come down about. Inasmuch as Mr. +Strakhof had other affairs in hand besides the will, he told her +about one thing and another with an easy conscience. + +Mr. Strakhof described a second visit to Yasnaya, when +he came to attest the same will as a witness. + +When he arrived, he said: "The countess had not yet come down. +I breathed again." + +Of his departure, he said: + + +As I said good-by to Sofya Andreyevna, I +examined her countenance attentively. Such complete tranquillity +and cordiality toward her departing guests were written on it that +I had not the smallest doubt of her complete ignorance of what was +going on. . . . I left the house with the pleasing consciousness +of a work well done--a work that was destined to have a +considerable historic consequence. I only felt some little twinge +within, certain qualms of conscience about the conspiratorial +character of the transaction. + + +But even this text of the will did not quite satisfy my +father's "friends and advisers"; it was redrafted for the fourth +and last time in July, 1910. + +This last draft was written by my father himself in the +Limonovski Forest, two miles from the house, not far from Mr. +Tchertkof's estate. + +Such is the melancholy history of this document, which was +destined to have historic consequences. "All this business is very +disagreeable to me, and it is unnecessary," my father said when he +signed the paper that was thrust before him. That was his real +opinion about his will, and it never altered to the end of his +days. + +Is there any need of proof for that? I think one need know +very little of his convictions to have no doubt about it. + +Was Lyoff Nikolaievich Tolstoy likely of his own accord to +have recourse to the protection of the law? And, if he did, was +he likely to conceal it from his wife and children? + +He had been put into a position from which there was +absolutely no way out. To tell his wife was out of the question; +it would have grievously offended his friends. To have destroyed +the will would have been worse still; for his friends had suffered +for his principles morally, and some of them materially, and had +been exiled from Russia. He felt himself bound to them. + +And on the top of all this were his fainting fits, his +increasing loss of memory, the clear consciousness of the approach +of death, and the continually growing nervousness of his wife, who +felt in her heart of hearts the unnatural estrangement of her +husband, and could not understand it. If she asked him what it was +that he was concealing from her, he would either have to +say nothing or to tell her the truth. But that was impossible. + +So it came about that the long-cherished dream of leaving +Yasnaya Polyana presented itself as the only means of +escape. It was certainly not in order to enjoy the full +realization of his dream that he left his home; he went away only +as a choice of evils. + +"I am too feeble and too old to begin a new life," he had said +to my brother Sergei only a few days before his departure. + +Harassed, ill in body and in mind, he started forth without +any object in view, without any thought-out plan, merely in order +to hide himself somewhere, wherever it might be, and get some rest +from the moral tortures which had become insupportable to him. + +"To fly, to fly!" he said in his deathbed delirium as he lay +at Astapova. + +"Has papa considered that mama may not survive the separation +from him?" I asked my sister Sasha on October 29, when she was on +the point of going to join him at Shamerdino. + +"Yes, he has considered all that, and still made up his mind +to go, because he thinks that nothing could be worse than the state +that things have come to here," she answered. + +I confess that my explanation of my father's flight by no +means exhausts the question. Life is complex and every explanation +of a man's conduct is bound to suffer from one-sidedness. Besides, +there are circumstances of which I do not care to speak at the +present moment, in order not to cause unnecessary pain to people +still living. It may be that if those who were about my father +during the last years of his life had known what they were doing, +things would have turned out differently. + +The years will pass. The accumulated incrustations which hide +the truth will pass away. Much will be wiped out and forgotten. +Among other things my father's will will be forgotten--that will +which he himself looked upon as an "unnecessary outward means." +And men will see more clearly that legacy of love and truth in +which he believed deeply, and which, according to his own words, +"cannot perish without a trace." + +In conclusion I cannot refrain from quoting the opinion of one +of my kinsmen, who, after my father's death, read the diaries kept +both by my father and my mother during the autumn before Lyoff +Nikolaievich left Yasnaya Polyana. + +"What a terrible misunderstanding!" he said. "Each loved the +other with such poignant affection, each was suffering all the time +on the other's behalf, and then this terrible ending! . . . I see +the hand of fate in this." + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext of Reminiscences of Tolstoy + diff --git a/old/rtlst10.zip b/old/rtlst10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6791ac7 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/rtlst10.zip |