reminiscences of tolstoy-第12部分

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〃Isn't　it　all　the　same　whether　it's　'Circle　of　Reading'　or　'For　Every　Day'？　　No；　it's　time　for　me　to　die：　I　cannot　live　like　this　any　longer。〃

And；　after　all；　in　the　end；　one　of　the　editions　of　the　sayings　of　the　wise　was　called　〃For　Every　Day〃　instead　of　〃Circle　of　Reading。〃

〃Ah；　my　dear；　ever　since　this　Mr。　　turned　up；　I　really　don't　know　which　of　Lyoff　Nikolaievich's　writings　are　by　Lyoff　Nikolaievich　and　which　are　by　Mr。　！〃　murmured　our　old　friend；　the　pure…hearted　and　far　from　malicious　Marya　Alexandrovna　Schmidt。

This　sort　of　intrusion　into　my　father's　work　as　an　author　bore；　in　the　〃friend's〃　language；　the　modest　title　of　〃corrections　beforehand；〃　and　there　is　no　doubt　that　Marya　Alexandrovna　was　right；　for　no　one　will　ever　know　where　what　my　father　wrote　ends　and　where　his　concessions　to　Mr。　's　persistent　〃corrections　beforehand〃　begin；　all　the　more　as　this　careful　adviser　had　the　forethought　to　arrange　that　when　my　father　answered　his　letters　he　was　always　to　return　him　the　letters　they　were　answers　to。＇25＇

＇25＇　The　curious　may　be　disposed　to　trace　to　some　such　〃corrections　beforehand〃　the　remarkable　discrepancy　of　style　and　matter　which　distinguishes　some　of　Tolstoy's　later　works；　published　after　his　death　by　Mr。　Tchertkof　and　his　literary　executors。


Besides　the　desire　for　death　that　my　father　displayed；　in　the　last　years　of　his　life　he　cherished　another　dream；　which　he　made　no　secret　of　his　hope　of　realizing；　and　that　was　the　desire　to　suffer　for　his　convictions。　　The　first　impulse　in　this　direction　was　given　him　by　the　persecution　on　the　part　of　the　authorities　to　which；　during　his　lifetime；　many　of　his　friends　and　fellow…thinkers　were　subjected。

When　he　heard　of　any　one　being　put　in　jail　or　deported　for　disseminating　his　writings；　he　was　so　disturbed　about　it　that　one　was　really　sorry　for　him。　　I　remember　my　arrival　at　Yasnaya　some　days　after　Gusef's　arrest。＇26＇　　I　stayed　two　days　with　my　father；　and　heard　of　nothing　but　Gusef。　　As　if　there　were　nobody　in　the　world　but　Gusef！　　I　must　confess　that；　sorry　as　I　was　for　Gusef；　who　was　shut　up　at　the　time　in　the　local　prison　at　Krapivna；　I　harbored　a　most　wicked　feeling　of　resentment　at　my　father's　paying　so　little　attention　to　me　and　the　rest　of　those　about　him　and　being　so　absorbed　in　the　thought　of　Gusef。

＇26＇　Tolstoy's　private　secretary；　arrested　and　banished　in　1908。


I　willingly　acknowledge　that　I　was　wrong　in　entertaining　this　narrow…minded　feeling。　　If　I　had　entered　fully　into　what　my　father　was　feeling；　I　should　have　seen　this　at　the　time。

As　far　back　as　1896；　in　consequence　of　the　arrest　of　a　doctor；　Miss　N；　in　Tula；　my　father　wrote　a　long　letter　to　Muravyof；　the　Minister　of　Justice；　in　which　he　spoke　of　the　〃unreasonableness；　uselessness；　and　cruelty　of　the　measures　taken　by　the　Government　against　those　who　disseminate　these　forbidden　writings；〃　and　begged　him　to　〃direct　the　measures　taken　to　punish　or　intimidate　the　perpetrators　of　the　evil；　or　to　put　an　end　to　it；　against　the　man　whom　you　regard　as　the　real　instigator　of　it　。　。　。　all　the　more；　as　I　assure　you　beforehand；　that　I　shall　continue　without　ceasing　till　my　death　to　do　what　the　Government　considers　evil　and　what　I　consider　my　sacred　duty　before　God。〃

As　every　one　knows；　neither　this　challenge　nor　the　others　that　followed　it　led　to　any　result；　and　the　arrests　and　deportations　of　those　associated　with　him　still　went　on。

My　father　felt　himself　morally　responsible　toward　all　those　who　suffered　on　his　account；　and　every　year　new　burdens　were　laid　on　his　conscience。



　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　MASHA'S　DEATH

As　I　reach　the　description　of　the　last　days　of　my　father's　life；　I　must　once　more　make　it　clear　that　what　I　write　is　based　only　on　the　personal　impressions　I　received　in　my　periodical　visits　to　Yasnaya　Polyana。

Unfortunately；　I　have　no　rich　shorthand　material　to　rely　on；　such　as　Gusef　and　Bulgakof　had　for　their　memoirs；　and　more　especially　Dushan　Petrovitch　Makowicki；　who　is　preparing；　I　am　told；　a　big　and　conscientious　work；　full　of　truth　and　interest。

In　November；　1906；　my　sister　Masha　died　of　inflammation　of　the　lungs。　　It　is　a　curious　thing　that　she　vanished　out　of　life　with　just　as　little　commotion　as　she　had　passed　through　it。　　Evidently　this　is　the　lot　of　all　the　pure　in　heart。

No　one　was　particularly　astonished　by　her　death。　　I　remember　that　when　I　received　the　telegram；　I　felt　no　surprise。　　It　seemed　perfectly　natural　to　me。　　Masha　had　married　a　kinsman　of　ours；　Prince　Obolenski；　she　lived　on　her　own　estate　at　Pirogovo；　twenty…one　miles　from　us；　and　spent　half　the　year　with　her　husband　at　Yasnaya。　　She　was　very　delicate　and　had　constant　illnesses。

When　I　arrived　at　Yasnaya　the　day　after　her　death；　I　was　aware　of　an　atmosphere　of　exaltation　and　prayerful　emotion　about　the　whole　family；　and　it　was　then　I　think　for　the　first　time　that　I　realized　the　full　grandeur　and　beauty　of　death。

I　definitely　felt　that　by　her　death　Masha；　so　far　from　having　gone　away　from　us；　had　come　nearer　to　us；　and　had　been；　as　it　were；　welded　to　us　forever　in　a　way　that　she　never　could　have　been　during　her　lifetime。

I　observed　the　same　frame　of　mind　in　my　father。　　He　went　about　silent　and　woebegone；　summoning　all　his　strength　to　battle　with　his　own　sorrow；　but　I　never　heard　him　utter　a　murmur　of　a　complaint；　only　words　of　tender　emotion。　　When　the　coffin　was　carried　to　the　　church　he　changed　his　clothes　and　went　with　the　cortege。　When　he　reached　the　stone　pillars　he　stopped　us；　said　farewell　to　the　departed；　and　walked　home　along　the　avenue。　　I　looked　after　him　and　watched　him　walk　away　across　the　wet；　thawing　snow　with　his　short；　quick　old　man's　steps；　turning　his　toes　out　at　a　sharp　angle；　as　he　always　did；　and　never　once　looking　round。

My　sister　Masha　had　held　a　position　of　great　importance　in　my　father's　life　and　in　the　life　of　the　whole　family。　　Many　a　time　in　the　last　few　years　have　we　had　occasion　to　think　of　her　and　to　murmur　sadly：　〃If　only　Masha　had　been　with　us！　　If　only　Masha　had　not　died！〃

In　order　to　explain　the　relations　between　Masha　and　my　father　I　must　turn　back　a　considerable　way。　　There　was　one　distinguishing　and；　at　first　sight；　peculiar　trait　in　my　father's　character；　due　perhaps　to　the　fact　that　he　grew　up　without　a　mother；　and　that　was　that　all　exhibitions　of　tenderness　were　entirely　foreign　to　him。

I　say　〃tenderness〃　in　contradistinction　to　heartiness。　Heartiness　he　had　and　in　a　very　high　degree。

His　description　of　the　death　of　my　Uncle　Nikolai　is　characteristic　in　this　connection。　　In　a　letter　to　his　other　brother；　Sergei　Nikolayevitch；　in　which　he　described　the　last　day　of　his　brother's　life；　my　father　tells　how　he　helped　him　to　undress。

〃He　submitted；　and　became　a　different　man。　。　。　。　　He　had　a　word　of　praise　for　everybody；　and　said　to　me；　'Thanks；　my　friend。'　You　understand　the　significance　of　the　words　as　between　us　two。〃

It　is　evident　that　in　the　language　of　the　Tolstoy　brothers　the　phrase　〃my　friend〃　was　an　expression　of　tenderness　beyond　which　imagination　could　not　go。　　The　words　astonished　my　father　even　on　the　lips　of　his　dying　brother。　

During　all　his　lifetime　I　never　received　any　mark　of　tenderness　from　him　whatever。

He　was　not　fond　of　kissing　children；　and　when　he　did　so　in　saying　good　morning　or　good　night；　he　did　it　merely　as　a　duty。

It　is　therefore　easy　to　understand　that　he　did　not　provoke　any　display　of　tenderness　toward　himself；　and　that　nearness　and　dearness　with　him　were　never　accompanied　by　any　outward　manifestations。

It　would　never　have　come　into　my　head；　for　instance；　to　walk　up　to　my　father　and　kiss　him　or　to　stroke　his　hand。　　I　was　partly　prevented　also　from　that　by　the　fact　that　I　always　looked　up　to　him　with　awe；　and　his　spiritual　power；　his　greatness；　prevented　me　from　seeing　in　him　the　mere　manthe　man　who　was　so　plaintive　and　weary　at　times；　the　feeble　old　man　who　so　much　needed　warmth　and　rest。

The　only　person　who　could　give　him　that　warmth　was　Masha。

She　would　go　up　to　him；　stroke　his　hand；　caress　him；　and　say　something　affectionate；　and　you　could　see　that　he　liked　it；　was　happy；　and　even　responded　in　kind。　　It　was　as　if　he　became　a　different　man　with　her。　　Why　was　it　that　Masha　was　able　to　do　this；　while　no　one　else　even　dared　to　try？　　If　any　other　of　us　had　done　it；　it　would　have　seemed　unnatural；　but　Masha　could　do　it　with　perfect　simplicity　and　sincerity。

I　do　not　mean　to　say　that　others　about　my　father　loved　him　less　than　Masha；　not　at　all；　but　the　display　of　love　for　him　was　never　so　warm　and　at　the　same　time　so　natural　with　any　one　else　as　with　her。

So　that　with　Masha's　death　my　father　was　deprived　of　this　natural　source　of　warmth；　which；　with　advancing　years；　had　become　more　and　more　of　a　necessity　for　him。

Another　and　still　greater　power　that　she　possessed　was　her　remarkably　delicate　and　sensitive　conscience。　　This　trait　in　her　was　still　dearer　to　my　father　than　her　caresses。

How　good　she　was　at　smoothing　away　all　misunderstandings！　　How　she　always　stood　up　for　those　who　were　found　any　fault　with；　justly　or　unjustly！　　It　was　all　the　same　to　her。　　Masha　could　reconcile　everybody　and　everything。

During　the　last　years　of　his　life　my　father's　health　perceptibly　grew　worse。　　Several　times　he　had　the　most　sudden　and　inexplicable　sort　of　fainting　fits；　from　which　he　used　to　recover　the　next　day；　but　completely　lost　his　memory　for　a　time。

Seeing　my　brother　Andrei's　children；　who　were　staying　at　Yasnaya；　in　the　zala　one　day；　he　asked　with　some　surprise；　〃Whose　children　are　these？〃　　Meeting　my　wife；　he　said；　〃Don't　be　offended；　my　dear；　I　know　that　I　am　very　fond　of　you；　but　I　have　quite　forgotten　who　you　are〃；　and　when　he　went　up　to　the　zala　after　one　of　these　fainting　fits；　he　looked　round　with　an　astonished　air　and　said；　〃Where's　my　brother　Nitenka。〃　Nitenka　had　died　fifty　years　before。

The　day　following　all　traces　of　the　attack　would　disappear。

During　one　of　these　fainting　fits　my　brother　Sergei；　in　undressing　my　father；　found　a　little　note…book　on　him。　　He　put　it　in　his　own　pocket；　and　next　day；　when　he　came　to　see　my　father；　he　handed　it　back　to　him；　telling　him　that　he　had　not　read　it。

〃There　would　have　been　no　harm　in　YOUR　seeing　it；〃　said　my　father；　a