Childhood (1852), Boyhood (1854), and Youth
(1855-57)--Tolstoy's first literary efforts--may be regarded
as semi-autobiographical studies; if not in detail, at least
in the wider sense that all his books contain pictures more or
less accurate of himself and his own experiences. No plot runs
through them; they simply analyse and describe with
extraordinary minuteness the feelings of a nervous and morbid
boy--a male Marie Bashkirtseff. They are tales rather of the
developments of the thoughts, than of the life of a child,
with a pale background of men and events. The distinct charm
lies in the sincerity with which this development is
represented.
_I.--Childhood_
August 12, 18--, was the third day after my tenth birthday anniversary.
Wonderful presents had been given me. My tutor, Karl Ivanitch, roused me
at seven by striking at a fly directly over my head with a flapper made
of sugar paper fastened to a stick. He generally spoke in German, and in
his kindly voice exclaimed, "Auf, Kinder, auf; es ist Zeit. Die Mutter
ist schon im Saal." ("Get up, children, it is time. Your Mother is
already in the drawing-room.")
Dyadka Nikolai, the valet of us children, a neat little man, brought in
the clothes for me and Volodya, who was imitating my sister's governess,
Marya Ivanova, in mocking, merry laughter. Somewhat sternly presently
Karl Ivanitch called from the schoolroom to know if we were nearly ready
to begin our lessons.
In the schoolroom, on one shelf was our promiscuous assortment of books,
on another, the still more miscellaneous collection which our dear old
tutor was pleased to call his library. I remember that it included a
German treatise on cabbage gardens, a history of the Seven Years' War,
and a work on hydrostatic. Karl Ivanitch spent all his spare time in
reading his beloved books, but he never read anything beyond these and
the Northern Bee. After early lessons our tutor conducted us downstairs
to greet Mamma.
She was sitting in the parlour, in front of the samovar, pouring out
tea. To the left of the divan was the old English grand piano, on which
my dark-complexioned sister, Liubotchka, eleven years old, was painfully
practising Clementi's exercises. Near her Marya Ivanova, with scowls on
her face, was loudly counting, and beating time with her foot. She
frowned still more disagreeably at Karl as he entered, but he appeared
to ignore this and kissed my mother's hand with a German salutation.
After mutually affectionate greetings Mamma told us to go to our father
and to ask him to come to her before he went to the threshing floor.
We found Papa angrily discussing business affairs with Yakov Mikhailof,
the chief concern being apparently about money from Mamma's estate at
Khabarovka, her native village. A large sum was due to the council, and
Yakov pleaded that it would be difficult to raise it from the sale of
hay and the proceeds of the mill. "For example," said he, "the miller
has been twice to ask me for delay, swearing by Christ the Lord that he
has no money. What little cash he had he put into the dam."
Yakov was a serf, and was a most devoted and assiduous man, excessively
economical in managing his master's affairs, and constantly worried
himself over the increase of his master's property at the expense of
that of his mistress.
For some days we had been expecting something unusual, from preparations
which we saw going on for some journey, but an announcement from Papa at
length surprised us terribly. He greeted us one morning with the remark
that it was time to put an end to our idleness, and that as he was going
that evening to Moscow, we were to go with him and to live there with
our grandmother, Mamma remaining on the estate with the girls.
My thoughts were mingled, for I was very grieved for the sake of Mamma,
yet I felt pleasure at the idea that we were grown up. For poor Karl
Ivanitch I was extremely sorry, as he would be discharged. On my way
upstairs I saw Papa's favourite greyhound, Milka, basking in the
sunshine on the terrace, and ran out, kissed her on the nose and
caressed her, saying, "Farewell, Milotchka. We shall never see each
other again." Then, altogether overcome with emotion, I burst into
tears.
My father was a chivalrous character of the last century, who regarded
with contempt the people of the present century. His two chief passions
were cards and women. He was tall and commanding, bald, with small eyes
ever twinkling vivaciously, and a lisping utterance. He knew how to
exercise a spell over people of every grade, and in the highest society
he was held in great esteem. He seemed born to shine in his brilliant
position, and was an expert in the management of all things that could
conduce to comfort and pleasure.
A lover of music, he sang to his own piano accompaniment operatic songs,
but had no liking for Beethoven's sonatas and other scientific
compositions. His principles grew more fixed as years rolled on; he
judged actions as being good or bad accordingly as they procured him
happiness and pleasure, or otherwise; he talked persuasively; and he
could represent the same deed as either an innocent piece of playfulness
or of abominable villainy.
Happy days of childhood that can never be recalled! What memories I yet
cherish of them. I see Mamma just as plainly as when she so long since
was talking to some one at the tea-table, while I, in my high chair,
grew drowsy. Presently she stroked my hair with her soft hand, saying,
"Get up, my darling, it is time to go to bed. Get up, my angel."
I spring up and embrace her, and exclaim, "Dear, dear Mamma, how I love
you!" With her sad and fascinating smile she places me on her knees, is
silent awhile, and then speaks. "So you love me very much? Love me
always and never forget me. If you lose your Mamma, Nikolinka, you will
not forget her?"
She kisses me still more lovingly, and I cry with tears of love and
rapture flooding my face, "Oh, do not say that, my darling, my precious
one." Will that freshness, that happy carelessness, that thirst for love
which made life's only requirements, ever return? Where are those pure
tears of tenderest emotion? The angel of consolation came and wiped them
away. Do the memories alone abide?
About a month after we had removed to Moscow, Grandmamma received a
visit from Princess Kornakova, a woman of forty-five, with disagreeable
gray-green eyes, but sweetly curved lips, bright red hair, and
insalubrious face. In spite of these peculiarities her aspect was noble.
I took a dislike to her because I found from her talk that she was given
to beating her own children, and thought that other people's children,
especially boys, needed to be whipped.
Another visitor was Prince Ivan Ivanitch, distinguished for his noble
character, handsome person, splendid bravery and extraordinary good
fortune. He belonged to a powerful family, and lived in accordance with
principles of the strictest religion and morality. Though somewhat
reserved and haughty, in demeanour, he was full of kindly feeling.
Prince Ivan Ivanitch was a highly cultured man of most versatile
accomplishments. Our Grandmamma was evidently delighted to see him, and
his magnificent aspect and her liking for him inspired me with unbounded
admiration and reverence.
He asked why Mamma had not come to Moscow. "Ah," was the reply, "she
would have come if possible, but they have no income this year."
"I do not understand," replied the Prince. "Her Khabarovka is a
wonderful estate, and it must always bring in a fine revenue."
"I will tell you," said Grandmamma, sadly. "It seems to me that all the
pretexts are made simply to enable him to live a gay life here, while
she, angel of goodness that she is, suspects nothing. She believes him
in everything."
This conversation should not have been overheard by me, but, having
overheard it, I crept out of the room.
On the 16th of April, nearly six months later, serious news came from
Mamma. She wrote to Papa that she had contracted a chill, which had
caused a fever, that this was over, but had left her in such utter
weakness that she would never rise from her bed again, although those
about her were not aware of such a condition. She wished him to come to
her at once and to bring her two boys with him. She prayed that God's
holy will might be done.
On April 25th we reached our Petrovskoe home. Papa had been very sad and
thoughtful during the journey. We at once learned from the steward that
Mamma had not left her room for six days. I shall never forget what I
saw when we entered Mamma's room. She was unconscious. Her eyes were
open, but she saw nothing. We were led away. Mamma soon passed away.
She was dead, the funeral obsequies took place, and then our life went
on much as before. We rose, had our repasts, and retired to rest at the
same hours. Three days after the funeral the whole household removed to
Moscow. Grandmamma only learned what had happened when we arrived, and
her grief was terrible. She lay unconscious for a week, and the doctor
feared for her life, for she would not eat, speak, or take medicine.
When she recovered somewhat, her first thought was of us children. She
cried softly, spoke of Mamma, and tenderly caressed us.
_II.--Boyhood_
On our arrival in Moscow a change had taken place in my views of things.
My sentiment of reverence for Grandmamma had changed to one of sympathy.
As she covered my cheeks with kisses I realised that each kiss expressed
the thought "She is gone; I shall never see her more." Papa had very
little to do with us in Moscow, coming to us only at dinner time, and
lost much in my eyes, with his ostentatious dress, his stewards, his
clerks, and his hunting and business expeditions.
Between us and the girls also an invisible barrier seemed to rise. We
were proud of our trousers and straps, and they of their petticoats,
which increased in length. Their showier Sunday dress made it manifest
that we were no longer in the country. But soon commenced a period of my
life of which it is difficult to trace a record. Rarely during memories
of it do I find moments of the genuine warmth of feeling which so
frequently illumined the earliest years of my life.
Vivid is the recollection of Volodya's entrance at the university. He
was barely two years my senior in age. The day of his first examination
arrived, and he presented a handsome appearance in his blue uniform with
brass buttons and lacquered boots. The examination lasted ten days, and
Volodya, having passed brilliantly, returned on the last day no longer
in blue coat and grey cap, but in student uniform, with blue embroidered
collar, three-cornered hat, and a gilt dagger by his side. Joy and
excitement reigned in the whole household. For the first time since
Mamma's death, Grandmamma drank champagne, and weeps with joy as she
looks at Volodya, who henceforth rode in his own equipage, receives
friends in his own rooms, smokes tobacco, goes to balls.
But soon another incident happened which is engraven on memory. The dear
old Grandmamma was growing daily weaker, and one morning the
announcement thrilled us that she was dead. Again, the house was full of
mourning. In a few months I should be preparing to enter the university.
I was by degrees emerging from my boyish moods, with the exception of
one--a tendency to metaphysical dreaminess, which was fated to do me
much injury in after years.
At this period an intimacy commenced between me and a very remarkable
man, Prince Dmitri Nekhliudoff. He was a tall and commanding figure,
with an extraordinary intellect. Whenever he found me alone, we seated
ourselves in some secluded corner and found mutual delight in
metaphysical discussions. With ecstasy in those moments I soared higher
and higher into the realms of thought. This strange friendship grew. We
agreed to confess everything to each other, and thus we should really
know each other and not be ashamed; but, in order that we should not be
in any fear of strangers, we vowed never to say anything to anybody else
about each other. And we kept the vow. As may be imagined, the influence
of my friend over me was greater than mine over him. I adopted his
fervent ideas, which included lofty aspirations for the reformation of
all mankind.
_III.--Youth_
I was nearly sixteen, and from that time I date the beginning of youth.
Under various professors I studied, though by no means willingly, to
prepare for the university. At length, on April 16, I went for the first
time to the great hall of the university. For the first time in my life
I wore a dress coat. The bright hall was filled with a brilliant crowd
of hundreds of young men in gymnasium costumes and dress coats, stately
professors moving freely about among the tables. On that day I was
examined in history and answered questions in Russian history in
brilliant style, for I knew the subject well. I received five marks.
Similar success rewarded my efforts at the examination in mathematics,
for the professor told me I had answered even better than was required,
and on this occasion I received five points.
Everything went splendidly till I came to the Latin examination. The
Latin professor was spoken of in accents of terror, for he had the
reputation of taking a fierce delight in plucking candidates. My success
so far had made me feel proudly confident, and as I could translate
Cicero and Horace without the lexicon and was proficient in Zumpt's
Grammar, I thought I might equal the rest. But not so. The professor
amicably passed one of my young acquaintances, although the youth was
palpably deficient in his answers. I afterwards learned that he was the
student's protector.
When my turn came, immediately afterwards, the professor turned on me in
truly savage demeanour. "That is not it; that is not it at all,"
exclaimed he. "This is not the way to prepare for higher education. You
only want to wear the uniform and to boast of being first."
The demeanour of this professor so affected me that my confusion was
complete. I only received two marks, and the injustice so depressed me
that I lost all ambition and allowed the remaining examinations to
proceed without making any effort. I made up my mind that it was unwise
to aim at being first, and I resolved to adhere to this sentiment in the
university.
My father married again. He was forty-eight when he took Avdotya
Epifanova as his second wife. She was a beautiful woman, whom Mamma used
to call Dunitchka. But I had suspected nothing until Papa actually
announced to us that he was going to marry her. The wedding was to take
place in a fortnight. I and Volodya returned to Moscow at the beginning
of September, and on the following day I went to the university for my
first lecture.
It was a magnificent, sunny day, and as I entered the auditorium I felt
lost in the throng of gay youths flitting about through the doors and
among the corridors. Belonging to no particular group I felt isolated,
and then even angry, and I remember in my heart that this first day was
a dismal occasion for me. I looked at the professor with an ironical
feeling, for he commenced his lecture with an introduction which, to my
mind, was without sense. I decided at this first lecture that there was
no need to write down everything that each professor said, and to this
principle I adhered.
Though during my course I made many pleasant acquaintances, and so felt
less isolated than at first, I indulged in little real comradeship. But
during the winter my attention was much engrossed with affairs of the
heart, for I was in love three times. Yet I was overwhelmed with
shyness, fearing that my love should be discovered by its object. With
two of the young ladies, indeed, I had already been in love previously.
Of one of them I was now enamoured for the third time. But I knew that
Volodya also regarded her with passionate ecstasy. I felt that it would
certainly not be agreeable to him to learn that two brothers were in
love with the same young woman.
Therefore I said nothing to him of my love. But great satisfaction was
afforded to my mind by the fact that our love was so pure, and that each
would be ready, if needful, to make a sacrifice for the sake of the
other. But that self-abnegation did not, after all, extend to Volodya,
for when he heard that a certain diplomat was to marry the girl, he was
disposed to slap his face and to challenge him to a duel. It happened
that I had only spoken once to the young lady, and my love passed away
in a week, as I made no effort to perpetuate it.
During that winter I was quite disenchanted with the social pleasures to
which I had looked forward when I entered the university, in imitation
of my brother Volodya. He danced a great deal, and Papa also went with
his young wife to balls. But at the first one which I attended I was so
shy that I declined the invitation of the Princess Kornakova to dance,
declaring that I did not dance, though I had come to her evening party
with the express intention of dancing a great deal. I remained silently
in one place the whole evening.
Avdotya's passionate love for Papa was evident in every word, look, and
action. We were always hypocritically polite to her, called her _chère
maman_, and noted that at first she was fond of calling herself
stepmother, and that she plainly felt the unpleasantness of her
position. Her disposition was very amiable and she was in no way
exacting.
My first examination at length arrived. It was on differential and
integral calculus. I was indifferent and abstracted, but a feeling of
some dread passed over me when the same young professor who had
questioned me at the entrance examination looked me in the face. I
answered so badly that he looked at me compassionately, and said quietly
but firmly that as I should not pass in the second class I had better
not present myself for examination. I went home and remained weeping in
my room for three days over my failure. I even looked out my pistols, in
order that they might be at hand if I should feel a wish to shoot
myself. Finally, I saw my father and begged him to permit me to enter
the hussars, or to go to the Caucasus.
Though he was not pleased, yet, when he saw how deep was my grief he
sought to comfort me by saying that it was not so very bad, and that
arrangements might be made for a different course of study. After a few
days I became composed, but did not leave the house till we departed for
the country. I may some day relate the sequel in the happier half of my
youth.
[Tolstoy has never published the continuation, but it is generally
considered that he represents himself in Constantine Levin, the hero of
the greatest of his stories, and that thus we gain an insight into his
mature thoughts.]
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