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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. 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