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Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
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THE LIFE OF TOLSTOY
FIRST FIFTY YEARS
[Illustration: _Portrait of Tolstoy when commencing Anna Karénina,
1873, by Kramskóy._]
THE LIFE OF TOLSTOY
FIRST FIFTY YEARS
by
AYLMER MAUDE
'A man so various that he seemed to be
Not one, but all mankind's epitome.'
DRYDEN
Fifth Edition
New York
Dodd, Mead and Company
1911
First Edition September 1908
Second Edition October 1908
Third Edition September 1910
Fourth Edition January 1911
Fifth Edition April 1911
PREFACE
THE reason I have written this work is because so many among us are
interested in Tolstoy and so few seem to understand him. It would seem
therefore that an English Life of Tolstoy is needed, and having lived
in Russia for twenty-three years, known Tolstoy well for several years,
visited him frequently in Moscow, and stayed with him repeatedly at
Yásnaya Polyána, I am perhaps as well qualified as any one to write
it, especially as I have long made a careful study of his views. My
wife and I have translated several of his works, have known people
closely connected with him, and some ten years ago we took part in
an unsuccessful 'Tolstoy' Colony; besides which I went to Canada at
his wish to make arrangements for the Doukhobór migration, of which I
subsequently wrote the history.
Moreover, I am impartial. That is to say, I have taken pains to
understand Tolstoy's views, and to see the good there is in them; but
being a Westerner, I see also certain things Tolstoy overlooks, and I
know that these things knock big holes in some of his most cherished
'principles.'
The book has had the great advantage of being carefully revised by his
wife, the Countess S. A. Tolstoy, who both verbally and in writing has
rendered me most valuable assistance.
I owe sincere thanks also to my friend P. I. Birukóf, Tolstoy's Russian
biographer. He modestly speaks of his own work as 'a collection of
those materials for the biography of Leo Tolstoy which are accessible
to me.' I have no hesitation in saying that his care and integrity in
gathering and using those materials, entitle him to the gratitude of
all who deal with the same subject.
There is one small matter of typography which needs a word of
explanation. I have sought to tell as much of the story as possible
in Tolstoy's own words, and have also had occasion to quote other
writers. At times the Russian text quoted contains allusions or
expressions which might perplex an English reader unless a word or
two of explanation were added. To introduce paragraphs of explanation
would interrupt the narrative, besides lengthening the book. To have
recourse to frequent footnotes in cases where two or three words of
explanation are all that is required is unsightly and unsatisfactory;
so I have adopted the plan of using square brackets [ ] to enclose such
explanations. The ordinary round parentheses ( ) I have kept for their
common use, and for cases where, for clearness' sake, words are added
that are not contained in the original.
Beyond indicating the varying value of sums of money mentioned, I have
not troubled the reader with the fluctuations of the rouble, which
went from over 38 pence before the Crimean war, to 19 pence after the
Russo-Turkish war of 1878. If he wants a concise history of the Russian
currency, he can find it in the preface to my edition of _Sevastopol_.
In that as in other matters I have tried to be accurate without being
pedantic. It is Tolstoy and his views that I aim at presenting to
English readers; and I have kept in the background, as far as I could,
the obstacles resulting from the Tower of Babel.
AYLMER MAUDE.
GREAT BADDOW,
CHELMSFORD, _20th August 1910_.
CONTENTS
PREFACE v
NOTE ON PRONUNCIATION OF RUSSIAN NAMES xiii
I. ANCESTRY AND PARENTAGE 1
II. YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD 16
III. THE CAUCASUS 59
IV. THE CRIMEAN WAR 93
V. PETERSBURG; LOVE AFFAIR; DROUZHÍNIN 138
VI. TRAVELS ABROAD 166
VII. AT YÁSNAYA AGAIN; TOURGÉNEF; ARBITER; MAGAZINE 214
VIII. THE SCHOOL 246
IX. MARRIAGE 282
X. NEARING THE CRISIS 329
XI. CONFESSION 399
XII. WORKS: 1852-1878 427
CHRONOLOGY 450
INDEX 457
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PORTRAIT OF TOLSTOY WHEN COMMENCING _Anna Karénina_,
1873. By Kramskóy _Frontispiece_
_Facing page_
TOLSTOY IN 1848, AFTER LEAVING THE UNIVERSITY 48
MAP OF SEVASTOPOL 113
PROMINENT RUSSIAN WRITERS, 1856: TOURGÉNEF, SOLOGOÚB,
TOLSTOY, NEKRÁSOF, GRIGORÓVITCH, AND PANÁEF 142
TOLSTOY IN 1856, THE YEAR HE LEFT THE ARMY 152
TOLSTOY IN 1860, THE YEAR HIS BROTHER NICHOLAS DIED 200
TOLSTOY IN 1862, THE YEAR OF HIS MARRIAGE 290
TOLSTOY'S LIBRARY, SHOWING THE WOODEN CROSSPIECE FROM
WHICH HE WISHED TO HANG HIMSELF 402
NOTE ON PRONUNCIATION OF
RUSSIAN NAMES
The spelling of Russian names in Latin letters in a work of this kind,
presents great difficulties. To begin with, we have as yet (though it
is much needed) no accepted method of transliteration from Russian
into English; and though it is not difficult for any one to frame
or select his own system of transliteration--as I have done for my
translations--this does not entirely meet the case when one has to deal
with the names of people, many of whom have adopted a spelling of their
own.
On the one hand, a man has a right to decide how he will have his own
name spelt; but on the other hand, the inclusion of a dozen different
systems of transliteration in one book, is apt to create confusion.
I have had to do the best I could under the circumstances. To pronounce
the names correctly, in accord with the system of transliteration I
have adopted, the reader should note the following:
I. Lay stress on the syllable marked with an accent.
II. Vowel sounds are broad and open:
_a_ as in f_a_ther.
_e_ as _a_ in f_a_te.
But _e_ initial and unaccented is pronounced _ye_.
_i_ as _ee_ in m_ee_t.
_o_ as in l_o_ch.
_u_ as _you_.
In diphthongs the broad sounds are retained:
_ou_ as _oo_ in b_oo_t.
_ya_ as in _ya_rd.
_ye_ as in _ye_s.
_yo_ as in _yo_re.
_ay_ as _eye_.
_ey_ as in th_ey_.
_oy_ as in b_oy_.
III. _y_ with a vowel forms a diphthong; _y_ at the end of a
word, after a consonant, sounds something like _ie_ in hyg_ie_ne.
IV. Consonants:
_G_ is hard, as in _g_o.
_Zh_ is like _z_ in a_z_ure.
_R_ is sounded strongly, as in _r_ough, ba_rr_en.
_S_ is sharp, as in _s_eat, pa_ss_.
Where I know of a spelling deliberately adopted by the owner of a name,
I have felt bound to follow it. For instance, the name which under my
system of transliteration I should have spelt 'Suhotín,' appears in
the book as Soohoteén, but in such cases, on the first occasion on
which the name occurs, I have given my usual transliteration in square
brackets.
I hope the day is not distant when some system will be generally agreed
upon in this matter. Any system would be better than the present
anarchy.
CHAPTER I
ANCESTRY AND PARENTAGE
Ancestors. Count Peter. Russian titles. Tolstoy's grandfather and
father. His maternal grandfather and mother. First recollections. Aunty
Tatiána. Antecedents.
1353
IN the annals of the Russian nobility it is recorded that a man named
Idris came from 'the lands of Cæsar,' that is to say, from the Holy
Roman Empire, in the year 1353 with two sons and 3000 followers, and
settling at Tchernígof in Little Russia was received with favour by
the reigning Grand Duke, who granted him much land. A great-grandson
of this Idris, Andrew by name, migrated to Moscow, where he was well
received by the reigning Grand Duke Vasíly, who conferred upon him the
surname of Tolstóy.
1645
As, however, the annals of the Russian nobility were to a large extent
concocted in the reign of Peter the Great, it is extremely doubtful
whether this story is reliable. Be that as it may, it is certain that
Peter Tolstoy, born in 1645, was a Russian who distinguished himself
in the service of the State. During the struggles which preceded
the acquisition of power by Peter the Great, he made the mistake of
allying himself with that autocrat's ambitious half-sister, Sophia.
The defeat of her Guards, the Streltsí, caused him quickly to transfer
his allegiance to Peter, whose favour he eventually managed to secure.
When drinking with his chosen companions in later days, the Tsar would
often pat Tolstoy's head, saying, 'Little head, little head, had you
been less wise, you would have come off your shoulders long ago.'
1697, 1716, 1717
This Peter Tolstoy held a commission in the Guards, and fought in
the Azof campaign of 1696; but later on he went abroad to study
shipbuilding when Peter the Great was seeking volunteers for that
purpose. He was sent in 1701 as Ambassador to the Sublime Porte, and
in the years 1710-1713, when political affairs were critical, he twice
suffered severe imprisonment in the Seven Towers--the stronghold
wherein the Sultan occasionally confined the ambassadors of States
with whose conduct he felt dissatisfied. Returning to Russia in 1714,
Tolstoy obtained the favour of Prince Ménshikof and became a Minister
of State. He married; but his wife does not appear to have been of
sufficient importance for any one to have said anything about her. He
accompanied Peter the Great to Holland and France, and rendered him
an important though discreditable service. Peter the Great's son, the
refractory Alexis, who disliked his father's reforms, had escaped from
Russia and was living with his mistress Euphrosyne at St. Elmo, near
Naples. By threats and promises, and by the aid of this woman, Tolstoy
induced the unfortunate Tsarévitch to return to Russia, and when he had
got him there, took a leading part in his trial and secret execution.
30 Aug. 1725
For this service Tolstoy received large estates and was promoted to the
headship of the Secret Chancellery. On the day of the coronation of
Peter's second wife, Catherine, Tolstoy was made a Count. His coat of
arms shows seven towers, in memory of his imprisonment by the Sultan,
and is appropriately supported by two wolf-hounds rampant, looking
outwards.
6 May 1727, 1729
On the death of Peter the Great, Tolstoy actively supported Ménshikof
in securing the throne for Catherine the First, and he was one of the
seven members of the Upper Secret Council which practically ruled
Russia. On the question of choosing a successor to Catherine, he
ventured however to oppose Ménshikof. The latter was too powerful for
him; and forfeiting his title of Count and deprived of all offices
rewards and estates, Tolstoy, at the age of eighty-two, was banished
for life to the Solovétz Monastery, situated on an island in the White
Sea. Here, two years later, he died. Ménshikof himself, one may remark
in passing, finished his life that same year in Siberia, having been
banished by an order signed by the boy he had placed on the throne. To
be a Russian Minister of State in those days was almost as dangerous as
it is in our times to be a revolutionary conspirator.
The title of Count was revived in the family in 1770, for the benefit
of Peter Tolstoy's grandson; whose son, Count Elias Tolstoy (he figures
in _War and Peace_ as the elder Count Rostóf), was the grandfather of
Leo Tolstoy, whose life this book narrates.
There is one matter which it may be as well to explain at the outset,
as English readers are so often puzzled by it: I refer to the nature
of Russian titles of nobility. The only really Russian title is that
of _Knyaz_, commonly translated 'Prince.' It is borne by descendants
of Rúrik, by descendants of the Lithuanian Prince Ghedimin, and
by descendants of various Tartar Khans whose dominions Russia has
annexed. It has also been conferred by Imperial Decree on a dozen or
more other Russian families. Though _Knyaz_ is translated 'Prince,'
_Velíky Knyaz_, curiously enough, is not translated 'Great Prince,' but
'Grand Duke,' and this indicates how difficult it is to find suitable
equivalents for these titles. Not till the time of Peter the Great were
the German titles, Count (_Graf_) and Baron, introduced into Russia.
Both of these are now common among the Russo-German landlords of the
Baltic Provinces; and less so among real Russians.
It must be borne in mind that there is no law of primogeniture in
Russia. Each son and daughter inherits the family title, so that there
are usually several, and sometimes many, people with equal rights to
use the same title. Though springing from one stock, they may be only
distantly connected. There are for instance other Counts Tolstoy,
contemporaries of Leo Tolstoy and distant cousins of his. One of these,
the poet Count Alexis Tolstoy, was a well-known author and dramatist.
Another, the reactionary Count Dmítry Tolstoy, was successively Head of
the Holy Synod, Minister of Education, and Minister of the Interior.
Tolstoy's grandfather already mentioned, Count Elias Tolstoy, was an
easy-going generous trustful and extravagant man, who married a wealthy
Princess Gortchakóf, but ran through her money and his own, and at
last to secure a means of livelihood, procured the post of Governor
of Kazán. This he was able to do, thanks to his family influence. It
is recorded to his credit that, contrary to the general custom of the
time, he accepted no bribes (except from the Government contractor, who
was considered the natural financial prop of a Provincial Governor),
though his wife accepted presents without his knowledge.
Their eldest daughter married a Count Osten-Saken. She became guardian
of Leo Tolstoy and of his brothers and sister, after they had lost
their parents. Another daughter married V. I. Úshkof. Leo Tolstoy was
under her charge when he lived in Kazán and studied at its University.
The first fact known to us about his father, Count Nicholas Tolstoy, is
characteristic of the manners of his class and day. When he was only
sixteen, his parents arranged a _liaison_ between him and a peasant
girl, such connections being considered necessary for the health of
young men. A son was born, and Tolstoy records his 'strange feeling of
consternation when (in after years) this brother of mine, fallen into
destitution and bearing a greater resemblance to my father than any of
us, used to beg help of us, and was thankful for the ten or fifteen
roubles we used to give him.'
1812, 1814
Nicholas Tolstoy was not yet seventeen when Napoleon invaded Russia;
but in spite of his parents' efforts to dissuade him, he insisted on
entering the army, and thanks to his mother's family influence, quickly
obtained an appointment as Adjutant to Prince Andrew Gortchakóf, a
General in command. He went through the campaigns of 1813 and 1814; and
in the latter year he and his orderly, while on their way to rejoin the
Russian army in Germany, after taking despatches to Petersburg, were
captured by the French. The orderly managed to hide his master's gold
coins in his boots, and for months never risked taking them off, though
his feet grew sore and he suffered extreme discomfort. Thanks to this
devotion, Nicholas Tolstoy, after reaching Paris, was able to live in
comfort.
Having attained the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel, he left the army when
the war was over, and, disillusioned with military service, returned
to Kazán, where his father (completely ruined by that time) was still
Governor.
1820
In 1820 Count Elias died, leaving his estate so encumbered that his son
declined to accept the inheritance. The young man had to face the task
of providing for his old mother, who was accustomed to great luxury,
as well as for his sister and a distant cousin, Tatiána Alexándrovna
Érgolsky, who had been adopted into the family; and so a marriage was
arranged for him with the wealthy but plain Princess Marie Volkónsky,
who was no longer very young.
His father's life, Tolstoy tells us, was then
passed in attending to the estate, a business in which he was not
very expert, but in which he exercised a virtue great for those
days: he was not cruel, but perhaps even lacked firmness. During
his lifetime I never heard of corporal punishment. If it ever was
administered to the serfs, the cases were so rare and my father
took so little part in them, that we children never heard them
mentioned. It was after his death that I learnt, for the first
time, that such punishment ever took place at home.
Like most men who served in the army in the early years of
Alexander's reign, he [Count Nicholas Tolstoy] was not what is
now called a Liberal, but out of self-respect he considered it
impossible to serve during the latter [reactionary] part of
Alexander's reign, or under Nicholas. During all my childhood and
youth, our family had no intimate relations with any Government
official. I, of course, understood nothing about this in childhood,
but I understood that my father never humbled himself before any
one, nor altered his brisk, merry, and often chaffing tone. This
feeling of self-respect, which I witnessed in him, increased my
love and admiration for him.
Leo Tolstoy's mother's family, the Volkónskys, were descended from
Rúrik (the first ruler mentioned in Russian history) as well as from
St. Michael the martyr, Prince of Tchernígof; and through them, even
more than on his father's side, Tolstoy is connected with many of the
leading families of the Russian aristocracy. Prince Nicholas Volkónsky,
his mother's father, came into conflict with the most powerful of the
favourites of Catherine the Great, for Tolstoy tells us that:
Having attained the high position of Commander-in-Chief, he lost
it suddenly by refusing to marry Potémkin's niece and mistress,
Varvára Engelhardt. To Potémkin's suggestion that he should do so,
he replied: 'What makes him think I will marry his strumpet?'
He married instead, a Princess Catherine Troubetskóy, and after
retiring from the service, settled down on his estate at Yásnaya
Polyána. His wife soon died, leaving him only one surviving child, a
daughter, Tolstoy's mother. Tolstoy writes of this grandfather:
He was regarded as a very exacting master, but I never heard any
instance of his being cruel or inflicting the severe punishments
usual in those days. I believe such cases did occur on his estate,
but the enthusiastic respect for his importance and cleverness
was so great among the servants and peasants whom I have often
questioned about him, that though I have heard my father condemned,
I have heard only praise of my grandfather's intelligence, business
capacity, and interest in the welfare both of the peasants and of
his enormous household.
Later, a strange chance brought Prince Volkónsky again into touch with
Varvára Engelhardt, whom he had refused to marry. She married a Prince
Sergius Golítsin, who consequently received promotions and decorations
and rewards; and Tolstoy tells us:
With this Sergius Golítsin and his family, my grandfather formed so
close a friendship that my mother from her childhood was betrothed
to one of his ten sons.... This alliance, however, was not destined
to be consummated, for the young man died prematurely of fever.
In a portrait of Prince N. Volkónsky which has been preserved in the
family there is much that corresponds to Leo Tolstoy's own appearance.
'Both,' as his brother-in-law remarks, 'have high, open foreheads and
large organs of the creative faculty, and in both the organs of musical
talent are exceedingly prominent and are covered by thick, overhanging
eyebrows, from beneath which small, deep-set, grey eyes literally
pierce the soul of the man on whom they are turned.'
1822
Prince N. Volkónsky died in 1820, and two years later his daughter
married Count Nicholas Tolstoy. Of her Tolstoy tells us:
I do not remember my mother. I was a year-and-a-half old when she
died. By some strange chance no portrait of her has been preserved,
so that as a real physical being I cannot picture her to myself. I
am in a way glad of this, for in my conception of her there is only
her spiritual figure, and all that I know about her is beautiful;
and I think this has come about not merely because all who spoke to
me of my mother tried to say only what was good, but because there
actually was much good in her.
She was well educated, spoke five languages, played the piano well,
and had a wonderful gift for improvising tales in the most delightful
manner. It is said that at balls her young lady friends would leave
the dance and gather in a dark room to hear her tell a story, which
shyness induced her to do where she could not be seen. Tolstoy remarks
that 'her most valuable quality was that though hot-tempered, she was
yet self-restrained. "She would get quite red in the face and even
cry," her maid told me, "but would never say a rude word."' She had one
quality Tolstoy values very highly--that of never condemning any one.
It was a quality shared by her eldest son, Nicholas; and Leo Tolstoy
says:
In the _Lives of the Saints_ by D. Rostóvsky, there is a short
story which has always touched me exceedingly, of a certain monk,
who to the knowledge of all his brethren had many faults, but whom
an old monk, in a dream, saw occupying a place of honour among the
saints. The old man asked in astonishment, 'How could this monk, so
unrestrained in many ways, deserve so great a reward?' The answer
was: 'He never condemned any one.'
Tolstoy adds: 'If such rewards did exist, I think my brother and my
mother would have received them.'
Another feature Tolstoy records of his mother is 'her truthfulness
and the simple tone of her correspondence.' He tells us that in his
imagination his mother
appeared to me a creature so elevated, pure and spiritual, that
often in the middle period of my life, during my struggles with
overwhelming temptations, I prayed to her soul begging her to aid
me; and such prayer always helped me much.
1828
Five children were born to Nicholas and Marie Tolstoy. First came
four sons, of whom Leo was the youngest. His name in Russian is Lyóf
Nikoláyevitch (Leo, son-of-Nicholas) Tolstóy. Leo Tolstoy is the way
he signs himself when using the Latin alphabet; and when pronouncing
his name it should be remembered that the accent falls on the second
syllable, and that that syllable rhymes with 'boy.' The fancy spellings
_Tolstoi_ and _Tolstoï_ are due to the fact that some of the early
translators and reviewers, not being able to read Russian, relied on
French versions, and did not know how Tolstoy spells or pronounces his
own name. He was born on 28th August 1828[1] at Yásnaya Polyána, with
a caul--which both in Russia and in England is considered a sign of
good-fortune.
[1] The dates mentioned in the text are usually old style
(twelve days behind our calendar), unless the contrary is
expressly stated.
A year and a half later a daughter, Marie, was born; and in giving
birth to her the mother died, on 7th March 1830.
Pilgrims, monks, nuns, and various half-crazy devotees were frequent
visitors at the house, and even took up their abode there. One of these
was a nun, Márya Gerásimovna, who in her youth had made pilgrimages
to various holy places dressed as a man. After the birth of four boys
Tolstoy's mother longed for a daughter, and promised Márya Gerásimovna
that she should be godmother if by prayer she enabled her to obtain her
desire. The next child really was a daughter. The promise was kept,
and thereafter Márya Gerásimovna, though she lived partly in the Toúla
convent, was free of the Tolstoys' house and spent much of her time
there.
Tolstoy gives us his earliest reminiscences in an autobiographical
fragment published in 1878:
These are my first recollections. I cannot arrange them in order,
for I do not know which come first or last. Of some of them I
do not even know whether they happened in a dream or when I was
awake. I lie bound[2] and wish to stretch out my arms, but cannot.
I scream and cry, and my screams are disagreeable to myself,
but I cannot stop. Some one--I do not remember who--bends over
me. This all happens in semi-darkness. I only know there were
two people there. My cries affect them: they are agitated by my
screams, but do not untie me as I want them to, and I scream
still louder. To them it seems necessary that I should be bound,
but I know it is unnecessary and I wish to prove this to them,
and I again burst into cries which are unpleasant to myself but
are yet unrestrainable. I feel the injustice and cruelty--not of
people, for they pity me, but--of fate, and I pity myself. I do
not know and shall never know, what it was all about: whether I
was swaddled while still a baby at the breast, and struggled to
free my hands; whether they swaddled me when I was more than a
year old, to prevent my scratching some sore, or whether I have
gathered into this one recollection (as one does in a dream) many
different impressions. The one sure thing is, that this was the
first and strongest impression of my life. And what remains on my
memory is not my cries nor my suffering, but the complexity and
contradictoriness of the impressions. I desire freedom, it would
harm no one, but I who need strength am weak, while they are strong.
[2] Russian babies are usually swaddled tightly with bands,
making them look like fresh mummies.
The next impression is a pleasant one. I am sitting in a tub, and
am surrounded by a new and not unpleasant smell of something with
which they are rubbing my tiny body. Probably it was bran, put
into the water of my bath; the novelty of the sensation caused by
the bran aroused me, and for the first time I became aware of, and
liked, my own little body with the visible ribs on my breast, and
the smooth, dark, wooden tub, the bared arms of my nurse, the warm,
steaming, swirling water, the noise it made, and especially the
smooth feel of the wet rim of the tub as I passed my hands along it.
My next recollections belong to the time when I was five or six,
and there are very few of them, and not one that relates to life
outside the walls of the house. Nature, up to the age of five, did
not exist for me. All that I remember, happened in bed or in our
rooms. Neither grass, nor leaves, nor sky, nor sun existed for me.
It cannot be that no one ever gave me flowers and leaves to play
with, that I never saw any grass, that they never shaded me from
the sun; but up to the time when I was five or six years old, I
have no recollection of what we call Nature. Probably, to see it,
one has to be separate from it, and I was Nature.
The recollection that comes next after the tub is that of
Ereméyevna. 'Ereméyevna' was the name with which they used to
frighten us children. Probably they had long frightened us with
it, but my recollection of it is this: I am in bed and feel
well and happy as usual, and I should not remember it, but that
suddenly the nurse, or some one of those who made up my life,
says something in a voice new to me, and then goes away; and in
addition to being happy I am also frightened. And besides me there
is some one else like me. (Probably my sister Mary, whose crib
stood in the same room.) And I now remember a curtain near my bed;
and both my sister and I are happy and frightened at the strange
thing happening to us, and I hide in my pillow: hide, and glance
at the door from behind which I expect something new and merry. We
laugh, and hide, and wait. And then some one appears in a dress
and cap quite unknown to me, but I recognise that it is the same
person who is always with us (whether my nurse or aunt I do not
remember), and this some one says something about bad children
and about Ereméyevna in a gruff voice which I know. And I squeal
with fear and pleasure, and really am frightened, and yet am glad
to be frightened, and wish her who is frightening me not to know
that I have recognised her. We become quiet, but presently begin
whispering to one another again, on purpose that Ereméyevna may
come back.
I have another recollection similar to this of Ereméyevna (but
as it is clearer it probably belongs to a later date) which has
always remained inexplicable to me. In this recollection the chief
part is played by our German tutor, Theodore Ivánitch, but I am
sure I was not yet in his charge; so the event must have taken
place before I was five. It is my first recollection of Theodore
Ivánitch, and it took place at so early an age that I can remember
no one else: neither my brothers nor my father nor any one. If
I have some notion of some one individual person, it is only of
my sister, and this only because she, like me, was afraid of
Ereméyevna. With this recollection is joined my first conception
of the fact that our house had a top story. How I climbed
there--whether I went by myself or whether any one carried me--I
have quite forgotten, but I remember that many of us are there,
and we all form a circle holding each other's hands; among us are
some women I did not know (for some reason I remember that they
were washer-women), and we all begin to go round and to jump; and
Theodore Ivánitch jumps, lifting his legs too high and too loudly
and noisily, and I at one and the same instant feel that this is
bad and depraved, and notice him and (I believe) begin to cry--and
all is over.
That is all I remember up to the age of five. Neither my nurses,
aunts, brothers, sister, nor my father, nor the rooms, nor my toys,
do I remember. My more distinct recollections begin from the time I
was moved downstairs to Theodore Ivánitch and the elder boys.
When I was moved downstairs to Theodore Ivánitch and the boys, I
experienced for the first time and therefore more strongly than
ever since, the feeling which is called the sense of duty, the
consciousness of the cross every man is called upon to bear. It
was hard to leave what I was accustomed to from the beginning of
things, and I was sad, poetically sad, not so much at parting from
people: sister, nurse, and aunt, as at parting with my crib, the
curtain and the pillow; and I feared the new life into which I was
entering. I tried to see the jolly side of this new life awaiting
me; I tried to believe the caressing words with which Theodore
Ivánitch lured me to him. I tried not to see the contempt with
which the boys received me, the youngest boy. I tried to think
it was a shame for a big boy to live with girls, and that there
was nothing good in the life upstairs with nurse; but my heart
was terribly sad, I knew I was irreparably losing my innocence
and happiness; and only a feeling of personal dignity and the
consciousness of doing my duty upheld me. (Often in after-life I
have experienced similar moments at the parting of crossroads,
when entering on a fresh course.) I experienced quiet grief at the
irreparableness of my loss; I was unable to believe that it would
really happen. Though I had been told that I should be moved to
the boys' rooms, I remember that the dressing-gown with a cord
sewn to its back, which they put on me, seemed to cut me off for
ever from upstairs, and I then for the first time observed--not
all those with whom I had lived upstairs, but--the chief person
with whom I lived, and whom I did not remember before. This was my
Aunty Tatiána Alexándrovna Érgolsky. I remember her short, stout,
black-haired, kindly, tender, and compassionate. It was she who put
the dressing-gown on me, and embracing me and kissing me, tied it
round my waist; and I saw that she felt as I did, that it was sad,
terribly sad, but had to be; and for the first time I felt that
life is not a game but a serious matter.
'Aunty' Tatiána Alexándrovna Érgolsky, mentioned in the above
reminiscences, was a very distant relative who being left an orphan,
had been brought up by Tolstoy's paternal grandparents. She was very
attractive and affectionate. She loved and was loved by Count Nicholas,
Leo's father, but stood aside that he might marry the rich Princess
Marie Volkónsky and repair the family fortunes. Six years after his
wife's death Count Nicholas asked Tatiána to marry him and be a mother
to his children. Not wishing (Tolstoy tells us) to spoil her pure,
poetic relations with the family, she refused the first but fulfilled
the second of these requests.
The joyousness of Tolstoy's boyhood was largely due to the care and
affection of this excellent woman, and in the most firmly rooted of
his principles--such as his detestation of corporal punishment and his
approval of complete chastity--it is easy to trace her unconscious
influence.
Here for instance is one episode:
We children were returning home from a walk with our tutor, when
near the barn we met the fat steward, Andrew, followed by the
coachman's assistant, 'Squinting Kouzmá' as he was called, whose
face was sad. He was a married man and no longer young. One of us
asked Andrew where he was going, and he quietly replied that he
was going to the barn, where Kouzmá had to be punished. I cannot
describe the dreadful feeling which these words and the sight of
the good-natured crestfallen Kouzmá produced on me. In the evening
I told this to my Aunt Tatiána, who hated corporal punishment and,
wherever she had influence, never allowed it for us any more than
for the serfs. She was greatly revolted at what I told her, and
rebuking me said, 'Why did you not stop him?' Her words grieved
me still more.... I never thought that we could interfere in such
things, and yet it appeared that we could. But it was too late, and
the dreadful deed had been done.
To sum up what we know of Tolstoy's antecedents: he was descended on
his father's side and still more on his mother's, from aristocratic
families who were more or less in passive opposition to the Government,
and who shared the humanitarian sympathies current in the early years
of the reign of Alexander I. A cousin of Tolstoy's mother was one of
the Decembrists, and on the accession of Nicholas I in 1825 took part
in their abortive attempt to establish Constitutional Government. He
was exiled to Eastern Siberia for thirty years, doing hard labour in
irons part of the time. His wife (another Princess Marie Volkónsky)
voluntarily accompanied him, as Nekrásof has told in a well-known
Russian poem. Several members of the family towards the end of their
lives retired into convents or monasteries.
We find strong family love uniting the homes of Tolstoy's parents and
grandparents; and even after their death, Tolstoy's nature ripened
in a congenial atmosphere of family affection; and many of his most
pronounced sympathies and antipathies are not peculiar to himself, but
were shared equally by other members of the family.
CHIEF AUTHORITIES FOR CHAPTER I
P. Birukof: _Lyof Nikolayevitch Tolstoy. Biografiya_: Moscow, 1906.
(The Russian edition is much more readable and accurate than the
English.)
Referred to hereafter as _Birukof_.
S. A. Behrs: _Vospominaniya o Grafe L. N. Tolstom_, Smolensk, 1894,
is very valuable as being the work of one who spent twelve summers at
Yasnaya, and knew Tolstoy intimately.
Referred to hereafter as _Behrs_.
There is an English edition of this book: _Recollections of Count Leo
Tolstoy_, London, 1893, but it is incomplete, and inferior to the
Russian in many ways. It gives the author's name wrongly as C. A. Behrs.
Leo Tolstoy, _First Recollections_, a fragment: Tolstoy's collected
works, Moscow, 1892.
Supplement to _Novy Mir_, Graf Lyof Tolstoy: St. Petersburg, 1903.
Referred to hereafter as _Novy Mir_.