Tolstoy

His Life and Work

Derrick Leon

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2015
• Print ISBN: 9781138911642
• eBook ISBN: 9781317433316
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Literary Criticism
• Index: Literature

This book, first published in 1944, provides a comprehensive overview of the work and life of the writer and philosopher Lev Nikolayevich Tolstoy. Widely considered one of the greatest novelists of all time, this title examines some of Tolstoy's most seminal works, including War and Peace and Anna Karenina. This book will be of interest to students of literature and philosophy.

Part I

I think and even know, for I have experienced it specially in childhood, that the love of others is a natural state of the soul, or rather a natural relationship to people, and when that state exists, one does not notice it. It is noticed only when one does not love, but fears someone, or when one loves someone particularly. . . .

TOLSTOY: Recollections.¹⁸

Chapter I

1. Birth and ancestry: early memories: the Ant Brotherhood: childhood at Yasnaya Polyana. 2. The move to Moscow: first love—Lyubov Islenev and Sonichka Kaloshin: death of Leo's father and grandmother: death of the Countess Osten-Saken: the move to Kazan.

1

AT Yasnaya Polyana, a fine wooden house built in the classical style with a handsome columned portico, elegant balconies and more than forty rooms, Leo Nikolaevich Tolstoy was born on August 28th, 1828. Byron had died four years before; Pushkin, Goethe and Stendhal still lived; while Ruskin and Dostoevsky were both younger than Turgenev, now ten years old.

Russia was very much separated from the rest of Europe. As a French traveller, after visiting the new palace of Czarskoye Selo, had recorded in his diary several decades ago: "In Russia there are two kinds of people—the nobles and the peasants. The nobles who have all, and the peasants who have nothing, the always toiling peasants and the all-devouring nobles." Less than three years before, on the accession of Nicholas I, the Decembrist conspirators, the intellectual élite of Russia, had failed in their aim of procuring a constitution for their country. Capital punishment was rare, though not infrequently a man who had been sentenced to several thousand strokes of the birch would die long before he had received his full punishment; while even fifty years later Marie Bashkirtseff was to be shocked, on returning to her country, to find an acquaintance beating his coachman with his fists and kicking him with his spurs on "as though it were the most natural thing in the world." As for the squalor, Tolstoy himself was wont to say in later life that in the old days, under the serfdom, when the landed gentry lived very dirtily and bugs were everywhere, if a guest remained for the night the butler used to be put into the bed first so as to feed the bugs, and only after that was the bed made for the visitor.

On both sides Tolstoy was descended from the old aristocracy, his mother's and his father's families each having been closely connected with the service of the State, and of brilliant literary and historic associations. The first Tolstoy to be ennobled (the family, who had originally come from Germany, had been given that name by the Grand Duke Vasili Tyomny) was Peter Andreyevich, a political adventurer who had received lands and title from Peter the Great for going into Italy after the sovereign's fugitive son Alexey, and treacherously enticing him back to Russia, where he was subsequently tortured to death. Later, when Alexey's son Peter II had attained the throne, Peter Andreyevich Tolstoy, despoiled of his honours, was banished to a monastery at Archangel, from which he never returned. But, with the sudden reversal of fortune which occurred with so many of the Romanovs and their supporters, his grandson Andrey Ivanovich received back both lands and dignity from the Empress Elizabeth Petrovna, and thereafter the family was firmly established amongst the high nobility. By the middle of the nineteenth century it was said that of all the families ennobled by Peter I or Catherine the Great, only the Tolstoys had survived.

Andrey Ivanovich To!stoy had a son Ilya, a man "of limited intelligence, very gentle and merry, and not only generous and confiding, but senselessly prodigal," who married Pelageya Nikolaevna, a woman of narrow intellect and scanty education, daughter of the blind Prince Gorchakov who had amassed a large fortune. Having squandered both his own and his wife's estates in reckless extravagance, through the influence of wealthy relatives Ilya Tolstoy later became the Governor of Kazan. His son Nicholas was Leo Tolstoy's father.

Nicholas Tolstoy had been a young man during the famous campaign which drove Napoleon from Russia, but having been taken prisoner by the enemy when sent to France with despatches, he languished in prison while the allies were marching into Paris. By the time he was released the family fortunes had been completely dissipated, and it was imperative for him to consider re-establishing them by a wealthy marriage. This he did by taking to wife the plain but lovable Princess Mary Volkonski, daughter of the distinguished and eccentric Prince Volkonski who had refused to marry the niece and mistress of Potemkin (What makes him think I will marry his harlot? he is said to have asked) and had later married a Princess Troubetskoy instead.

The Volkonskis, who claimed descent through the Princes of Chernigov with Rurik himself, were rich, proud and independent. One of them had played a leading part in the murder of the mad Emperor Paul, Another (second cousin to Tolstoy's mother) had been one of the Decembrist conspirators, and exiled to Siberia for thirty years, in consequence, whither, as Nekrasov has told in his poem, his wife voluntarily accompanied him; while his brother, who had participated in every campaign against Napoleon, acted with such conspicuous courage upon the battlefield that, when wounded and a prisoner, Napoleon himself had sent for him and offered him his freedom on condition that he promised not to engage in the war for the next two years—an offer that was proudly declined.

In addition to pride of birth and independence of mind and action, Tolstoy probably inherited literary talent also from both sides of his family. For, besides being distantly related to various distinguished critics, historians and contributors to magazines, through his father he was connected with the poet and dramatist Alexey Tolstoy, and through his mother he was a distant cousin of the celebrated Pushkin.

The marriage between Count Nicholas Tolstoy and Princess Mary Volkonski, though primarily one of convenience, was not unhappy. Each had loved deeply before. The Count had all but married a distant relative, Tatiana Ergolski, who had been brought up as one of the family in his father's house, and renounced her at last only because she had no fortune; while the Princess had been betrothed to a Prince Golitzin, son of that same Varvara Engelhardt whom her father had rejected. But he had died; and though no one else could ever take his place in her heart, she had named her youngest son after him.

The Count, a debonair, handsome, genial and kindly man whose distinguished bearing was unmatched by any remarkable abilities, retired from the army soon after his marriage, and occupied himself exclusively with the cultivation of his estates and the many lawsuits relating to his father's chaotic affairs. His wife devoted herself completely to the welfare of her family. A plain, awkward woman several years older than her husband, the Countess Tolstoy nevertheless possessed a charm of manner that was the expression of a cultivated and an understanding mind enriched by a charitable and affectionate heart. Accomplished, highly educated and deeply religious, she could speak five languages fluently, played the piano exceptionally well, possessed great discrimination of taste, and was gifted with so remarkable a talent for telling stories that in her youth at balls many of her friends would prefer to listen to her rather than dance.

Yasnaya Polyana, an estate of about eighty acres with a fine old house built by her father, had been part of the Princess Volkonski's dowry, and here they settled soon after their marriage. The elegant mansion of painted wood with its ample stone wings stood firmly planted on a slight eminence surrounded with shrubberies, and was approached by a noble avenue of birch trees with two round white towers at the entrance. The grounds were finely wooded, with imposing avenues of lime trees. A river ran through them, and there were several ponds. Near at hand was the village, like a thousand others scattered throughout Russia: a broad flat street between straw-thatched huts of mud and wattle, with a communal pump and a simple church. Some ten miles north, across a gently undulating countryside rich with forests and unfenced comland, lay the city of Tula: close by, the old road to Kiev bore a continual stream of pilgrims to the sacred city, many of whom visited Yasnaya Polyana to seek rest and alms on their way.

Leo Tolstoy was the fourth boy in the family, and, until she died less than two years after his birth in bearing a daughter who was named after her, he was his mother's little Benjamin. But he never remembered her with any clarity, though the picture he created of her from the tales of those who had known her remained an inspiration to him the whole of his life. Enraptured, the little boy would listen while her maid explained how, though she was quick-tempered, she was also very restrained; and though she might grow red in the face, and sometimes cry when she was vexed, "she would never say a harsh word—she did not even know any."

Like most Russian families of that period and class, the circle of which he was soon to become conscious was already a large one. Besides his father and his brothers and sister, it included his paternal grandmother, who had lived with her son ever since her husband had died; his aunt Aline, the Countess Osten-Saken, who, after a short period of disastrous married life, during which her husband had gone mad and one day shot her through the chest, had returned with her ward Pashenka to her brother for protection; that same Tatiana Ergolski whom Count Nicholas had loved in youth, and who, though she had rejected him when he had proposed to her after his wife's death, had promised him, nevertheless, always to be a mother to his children; a ward, Dunechka Temyashov, the illegitimate daughter of one of the Count's intimate bachelor friends; and an ample complement of tutors, nurses and old and faithful family servants.

Tolstoy's first recollection—an incident characteristic of his ardent, strenuous and frustrated life—was of lying tightly bound in his swaddling-clothes and bursting into a loud wail because he wanted to stretch his arms and could not do so. Someone who bent over him evidently considered it necessary that he should remain thus fettered, but he himself knew that it was unnecessary, and by his lusty bellows wished to make this clear to her.

Otherwise, his memories of early life in the nursery with his sister Masha (Mary) and his foster-sister Dunechka were but few and fragmentary: of sitting in a dark wooden tub being bathed, and enjoying the steaming, fragrant, swirling water, the smooth edge along which he ran his hands, the sight of his nurse's comfortable friendly arms, and his own small perfectly formed body with the ribs clearly visible beneath the flesh; of being deliciously terrified by his nurse with some mysterious, exciting phrase specially invented by her to amuse him; of once being taken to an attic by his brother's tutor to dance in a ring with some washerwomen, and feeling privately affronted, in watching him, that any man could throw his legs about with such abandon.

The first unforgettable crisis of his life occurred when he was five years old. One day his dear aunt Tatiana—the being whom of all those about him he loved most tenderly—came to tell him that it was now time for him to leave the nursery for the schoolroom. Affectionately she tied for him the girdle of his dressing-gown, and tried her utmost to console him for the loss of the childish innocence that in his heart he felt to be infinitely precious. But he remained sad, and it was only the knowledge that it would be unmanly for a boy of his age to continue to live amongst girls that gave him the strength to surrender himself to the tutor without tears.

The ordeal proved to be less terrifying than he had imagined, and very soon he became accustomed to the greater world. From the first he loved his brothers with a peculiar tenderness. He loved Mitenka (Dmitri), the nearest to him in age, with his merry smile and his strange, incomprehensible passions; he loved Nikolenka (Nicholas), the eldest, with his kindliness, his talent, his humour, his astonishing gift of telling endless fascinating stories, and of drawing wonderful devils with horns; but Seriosha (Sergey) the handsome and high-spirited, Seriosha the candid, proud and gay, who was always singing and cared nothing for what anyone thought of him, Seriosha he positively adored.

The whole house, the whole family, must have been pervaded with an unusual atmosphere of love, and this atmosphere particularly surrounded the boys. Not only did aunt Tatiana stand in the place of a mother to them, and teach little Leo the charm of loving—"not only by her words, but by her whole being," but Nicholas, who had evidently heard something of the Moravian Brothers, early initiated the others into his secret Ant (mouravey) Brotherhood, and announced one day, with mysterious self-importance, that he possessed a charm by means of which all men on earth could become good and happy. This secret he had himself inscribed upon a piece of green twig, which he had carefully buried in a spot that one day he made known to his marvelling brothers. Thereafter, to play at being Ant Brothers was their favourite game. Seated behind each other upon an imaginary coach, crouched under the table or huddled together in a wigwam made of chairs and shawls, they would press close to each other with a deliberate tenderness, while Nicholas explained that it was only through mutual love that all men could become brothers. He even hinted at a certain mysterious Fanfaron Hill, whither, if they promised to observe his diverse and curious instructions, he would one day lead them, so that they might learn the final secret. Thus, even before he was six years old, there was born in Leo the dream of a world in which all men should be united in brotherhood through love.

Always an unusually tender-hearted and sensitive little boy, passionately susceptible to music, and so responsive to kindness and affection that when he was caressed or petted he would weep for joy, he was soon nicknamed by his brothers Lyova-ryova—Leo cry-baby. But evidently without malice. To them, as to his aunt Tatiana, he was always to be known as "notre cher Léon."

The Tolstoys were the most important family in the neighbourhood, and it was inevitable that the aristocratic tradition in which they were brought up, and the deference which the children received from all sides, should leave an ineffaceable impression upon mind and character alike. Thus, although at Yasnaya Polyana the serfs were probably as well treated as upon any estate in Russia, one day when he saw a favourite peasant being taken to a barn by an overseer to be beaten, it never even occurred to the tender-hearted Leo to protest. "But why didn't you try to stop it?" aunt Tatiana asked him when he told her. Regarding her in abashed and guilty silence, Leo could think of no reply. He had not realized the possibility of crying out against such customary usages, and now it was too late.

Yet more distressing was the time when they hanged his tutor's little dog. This "dear brown dog, with beautiful eyes and soft curly hair," had been accidentally run over, and since her leg was broken and she could be no further use for hunting, it was decided to put her away. It was more than little Leo could understand. "The dog was suffering, was ill, and was to be hanged for it. I felt there was something wrong, but did not dare to trust my feeling in the face of the firm decision of people I respected."

Once he realized that animals could suffer pain, it became impossible for him to inflict it wantonly. One day when he had been beating his old horse Raven, the serf explained to him that it was useless to punish it, as the beast was simply too exhausted to carry him farther. At once Leo jumped down, and, observing how its steaming sides quivered and its breath came in painful gasps, he "felt so sorry that he began to kiss his sweaty neck and to beg his pardon for having hurt him." It had never occurred to him before that Raven could be any less happy than himself.

Such painful incidents, however, were of but rare occurrence, and for the most part life passed very pleasantly, with lessons in the schoolroom under the warm-hearted tutor; expeditions to the Little Forest to gather nuts with his old grandmother, who, seated in her yellow cabriolet drawn by a footman while he and his brothers bent down the branches for her, picked them and carefully stowed them away in a little bag; skating in the winter; bathing and picnicking in the summer; or visiting the kennels and the stables to see their favourite dogs and horses, for their father was an ardent huntsman, as his youngest son was to be after him, and from his earliest years Leo had a rare understanding and affection for all animals.

Then, in the house, there was Dunechka's nurse, who had a hanging chin like a turkey's, with a ball-like growth inside it that she would sometimes let the boys feel as a treat; Praskovya Isaevna, the faithful old housekeeper, who told them wonderful stories of the days when grandfather was a soldier, lorded it over the other servants, and, on occasion, might even be persuaded to give her little Leo some special delicacy from the store-cupboard; Vasili Troubetskoy, the butler, who would carry the children in turn up and down the pantry on his tray; or some friendly pilgrim seeking shelter for a night before resuming his journey to the miraculous shrines at Kiev.

At Christmas there would be festivities of a traditional magnificence. The thirty house serfs, in fancy dress and exuberant spirits, would crowd into the huge drawing-room, and their neighbours the Islenevs would drive over from their estate of Ivitsa: three little girls and three little boys with their father Alexander Mikhaylovich, all in strange and wonderful costumes, so that the old house rang with the sound of laughter, music and dancing. Then would follow long winter evenings, when, upon going into the drawing-room to kiss their elders' hands and say good-night, the children would sometimes be invited to sit for a short time with them, while one of their aunts read aloud to the company, and their old grandmother, aided by her son, would lay out her patience cards in solemn ritual, and from time to time take a pinch of snuff from a gold box. It was on such an evening, while the whole family were thus assembled, that Count Nicholas, that "well-built, active, sanguine man with a pleasant face and eyes that were always sad," saw, in one of the tall mirrors that reflected the next room through the open door, one of the footmen entering on tiptoe to steal tobacco from his master's jar. When he pointed out die miscreant to the rest of them with benevolent amusement, Leo was so enchanted that on leaving the room he kissed his father's hand with special tenderness in order to show his appreciation of such kindness. He always had the greatest affection for this father of his, who petted his children when they went to speak to him in his study, and even permitted t...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title
• Copyright
• Original Title
• Original Copyright
• Contents
• PART I
• PART II
• PART III
• PART IV
• PART V
• WORKS CONSULTED
• INDEX