[8] Prince S. G. Volkonsky (1788-1865), one of the most famous
Decembrists, and his wife, _née_ Raevsky (1805-1863). Both left
remarkable memoirs.
[9] N. A. Belogolovy (1834-1895), doctor, author of the well-known
_Reminiscences_, in which there is a chapter devoted to Tolstoi called
“A Meeting with L. N. Tolstoi.”
[10] G. C. Lichtenberg (1742-1799), German physicist, critic, and
publicist.
[11] V. I. Alexeev, at that time tutor of Tolstoi’s son Ilya.
1905
_January 5th._ During the Christmas holidays Misha Sukhotin read
Professor Korkunov’s book on Russian State Law. Tolstoi took it and
began to read it. He sat nearly the whole evening in his room, and
came out in a state of agitation and disturbance saying: “It gave me
palpitation of the heart to read that! In this, as in almost all legal
books which deal with ‘rights’ of different kinds, it talks of anything
and everything except the truth of the matter. It deals with the
‘subject’ and ‘object’ of right--I never could make out what precisely
those words and others of the same sort mean, nor could I ever get any
one to explain them to me. But whenever the argument approaches the
real question, the author immediately swerves aside and hides himself
behind his objects and subjects.”
Further Tolstoi said:
“This is what surprises me; all my life I have striven for knowledge.
I sought and still seek for it, and the so-called men of science
say that I denounce science. All my life I have been occupied with
religious questions, and outside of them I see no sense in human life;
yet the so-called religious men consider me an atheist.” ...
About that time, in January, Tolstoi said that he should like to write
a whole series of stories for his “Reading Circle” which he is now
planning, and that he had already many subjects in mind.
“Only one minute of life remains, and there’s work for a hundred
years,” he said.
When later in the evening I played Chopin’s prelude, Tolstoi said:
“Those are the kind of short stories one ought to write!”
There was then an interesting talk about Chekhov’s story, _The
Darling_, with reference to Gorbunov’s letter dissuading him from
publishing the story in the “Reading Circle.” Tolstoi on the contrary
decided to include the story without fail, and expressed his very high
opinion of it; and in a few days he wrote a preface to _The Darling_ in
which he expressed his feeling for it.
Of Gorbunov’s letter Tolstoi said:
“I feel a woman’s influence on him in this. The confused modern idea is
that a woman’s capacity to give herself up with all her being to love
is obsolete and done with; and yet this is the most precious and the
best thing in her and her true vocation; and not political meetings,
scientific courses, revolutions, etc.”
Of Beethoven’s music Tolstoi said that at times he felt a little bored
by it, as he thought often happens with what has once struck one
greatly. He felt the same, for instance, about Ge’s paintings.
_June 16th._ In February I made a note of Tolstoi’s words:
“Immortality, incomplete, of course, is certainly realized in our
children. How strongly man desires immortality, is most clearly shown
by his endeavour to leave some trace after his death. It might seem of
no importance to a man what is said of him and whether he is remembered
after he has gone; and yet what efforts he makes for it!”
Tolstoi said of the Molokans that he had no sympathy with their
religious formalism. In this respect he draws a parallel between the
Molokans and the English.
The son of Vicomte de Vogüé visited Tolstoi in the spring; Tolstoi said
of him:
“He is a typical Frenchman in everything--from his trousers to his way
of thought. His father translated _Three Deaths_ and wrote to me about
it long ago. It was on my conscience that I did not answer him, and was
glad to have the opportunity of apologizing to his son.”
Tolstoi was surprised by young de Vogüé’s saying that his father worked
at night and smoked a great deal during his work.
Tolstoi said:
“I imagine that a Frenchman must in the morning rub himself red with
eau-de-Cologne, drink his coffee, and sit down quietly to work.
“I always write in the morning. I was pleased to hear lately that
Rousseau too, after he got up in the morning, went for a short walk
and sat down to work. In the morning one’s head is particularly fresh.
The best thoughts most often come in the morning after waking, while
still in bed or during the walk. Many writers work at night. Dostoevsky
always wrote at night. In a writer there must always be two people--the
writer and the critic. And, if one works at night, with a cigarette in
one’s mouth, although the work of creation goes on briskly, the critic
is for the most part in abeyance, and this is very dangerous.”
Tolstoi often says that he cannot find a suitable definition of music.
Once in the spring he said:
“Music is the shorthand of emotion. Emotions which let themselves be
described in words with such difficulty, are directly conveyed to man
in music, and in that is its power and significance.”
Once, a long time ago, Tolstoi said:
“Life is the present. All that a man has felt remains with him as a
memory. We always live by memories. I often feel more strongly not what
I have actually felt, but what I have written and felt in describing
my characters. They too have become my memories, as if they had been
actual experiences.”
The other day the talk was on the same lines.
Tolstoi said:
“A so-called misfortune happens; one does not usually feel it, just as
one does not feel a wound at the moment it is inflicted; and it is only
by degrees that the sorrow grows in strength, having become a memory,
placed, that is, not outside me, but already within. Yet, after a long
life, I notice that the bad and painful things have not become me; they
have somehow passed by; but on the contrary, all the pleasant feelings,
all the loving relations towards people--my childhood, all that has
been good--rise with particular clearness in my memory.”
Tatyana Lvovna said:
“But how do you explain Pushkin’s poem; ‘Memory unfolding its long
scroll,’ and further: ‘And reading my life with disgust, I tremble and
curse’?”
Tolstoi replied:
“That is quite different. To be able to experience and feel all that is
bad in one with such power--that is a precious and necessary quality.
Happy and of great importance is the man who can go through it with the
vigour of Pushkin.”
_July 6th._ We went for a walk to the sandpits. During the walk
Gorbunov asked Tolstoi about Alexander Dobrolyubov’s[12] religious and
philosophic book. Tolstoi said of the book:
“It is vague, false, and artificial.”
On that occasion the talk was about the literary profession.
Tolstoi said:
“It is surprising how in even a little piece of work one must think it
over from all points of view before starting it. It does not matter
whether you are making a shirt or a move in chess. And if you do not
think it out, you at once spoil it all--you won’t make the shirt,
you’ll lose the game. It is only in writing that one can do what one
likes, and people never notice--indeed one can become a famous writer.”
Tolstoi went on to say:
“The whole business of the writer is to perfect himself. I have always
tried and try now to make a question which interests me clear to the
highest degree that I am capable of making it. The writer’s work
consists in that. The most dangerous thing is to be a teacher. I do not
think I have tried to be that. Yes, I have.... But always badly.”
I. Gorbunov was saying that the “Posrednik” had the Censor’s permission
to publish an excellent little book, in which a visit to Sarov is
described impartially.
Tolstoi said:
“I have no sympathy when such things are described in a joking or
jeering way. There is a great deal of sincere, simple belief there
which should be treated carefully. In some old credulous woman you
feel, in spite of the absurd superstition, that the foundation of her
faith is a real striving for the highest and for the truth. Her outlook
on the world is much higher than that of a professor who has solved all
questions long ago.”