University of Virginia Library

12. Chapter XII
The Second Journey Abroad — His Brother's Death

In February 1860, Fet wrote to Tolstoy to consult him as to an intention which he had of buying some land and devoting himself to agriculture. Tolstoy's answer was very sympathetic, he approved of Fet's plans, offered his help, mentioning certain lands for sale, and after this businesslike part of the letter, of no general interest, he expressed the following important thoughts about some works of Turgenev and Ostrovskiy:

I have read "On the Eve". This is my opinion. To write stories isin general a mistake, and especially so on the part of those who feel unhappy and do not exactly know what they desire from life. However, "On the Eve" is much better than "A Nest of Nobles", and there are in it excellent negative characters: the artist and the father. The other characters not only fail to be types, but their conception, their situation, is not typical, or else they are quite trivial. However, this is Turgenev's usual mistake. the young lady is wretchedly drawn: "Oh,how I love you...she had long eyelashes...." In general, it always astonishes me in Turgenev that with his intelligence and poetic sensitiveness he is not able to avoid insipidity, and that even in his methods. There is more of this insipidity in his negative methods, reminding one of Gogol. There isno humanity, no sympathy with the characters, but monsters are represented whom he abuses but does not pity. This painfully jars with the liberal tone and bearing of all the rest. This method may have been good in times gone by and in those of Gogol. Besides, one must add that if one does not pity one's most insignificant characters, then one should cut them up like mincemeat, or else laugh them down till one's sides ache; but not treat them as Turgenev does, filled with spleen and dyspepsia. In general, however, no one else now could write such a story, although it will not meet with success.

"The Tempest" by Ostrovskiy is to my mind a pitiful work, but it will succeed. Neither Ostrovskiy nor Turgenev is to blame, but the times....Another thing is now required. It is not for us to learn but to teach Tommy and Mary at least a little of what we know. Goodby dear friend.

Tolstoy had arrived at the conclusion that a man endowed with brains and enriched with knowledge must, before deriving pleasure from them for himself, give a share in the benefit of them to those who are deprived of both. Accordingly, he had devoted to the school the time he had free from his work on the estate. In these occupations he passed the winter of 1859-60. At the same time, while doing reading, serious reading, he had come to the following conclusions:

1st February [1860] — I have read La degenerescence de l'esprit humain, and about there being physically a higher degree of intellectual development. In this state I mechanically thought of prayer. Prayer to whom? What! is God conceived so clearly that one can beseech and communicate with Him? If I do conceive such a one He loses all magesty for me. A God whom one can beseech and serve is the expression of the weakness of one's mind. God is God precisely because I cannot imagine the whole of His being. Besides, He is not a being but a Law and a Power.

Let these lines remain as an indication of my conviction of the power of the mind.

Then he reads Auerbah's storie, "Reynard the Fox" by Goethe, and finally about the same time he jots down the following thought:

A strange religion is mine and that of our time, the religion of progress. Who said that progress was good? It is merely the absence of faith and the striving after lines of activity — represented as faith. Man requires an impulse -Schwung — Yes, that is it.

These thoughts were fully developed in his educational works, as we shall see later on, and also in the self-analysis contained in his confession quoted above.

Tolstoy's friends were watching his literary career with intense interest, treating condescendingly and half-jokingly "the foolishness and eccentricity", as they called them, of those manifestations of the deep inner growth in Tolstoy, which most of them wholly failed to understand.

Thus, Botkin casually wrote to Fet on March 6, 1860:

I learned with joy from Turgenev's letter that Tolstoy has again set to work at his Caucasian novel. He may play the fool as long as he likes, still I maintain he is a man with great gifts. Any portion of his foolishness is of more value to me than the wisest acts of others. [A. Fet, "My Reminiscences, Part I" p324]

Turgenev's attitude was the same: here is part of his letter to Fet of the same year:

But Lev Tolstoy still goes on in his queer way. Such is evidently his destiny. When will he make his last somersault and stand on his feet? [A. Fet, "My Reminiscences, Part I" p325]

In the spring of 1860, Fet and his wife paid their usual visit at Yasnaya Polyana on their way from town to the country Fet made a short not of his stay there on this occasion.

Of course, we could not refuse ourselves the pleasure of spending a couple of days in Yasnaya Polyana, where to add to our joy, we found dear N. N. Tolstoy, who for his original Oriental wisdom has earned the nickname of Firdusi. How many delightful plans of staying in the gable in Yasnaya Polyana were discussed in great detail by us during those two days! It did not occur to any one of us how unsound all those plans were.

Further on, Fet tells of the coming of Nikolay Tolstoy to their place:

Once Nikolay Tolstoy arrived here in the middle of May and told us that his sister Marie Tolstaya and his brothers had persuaded him to go abroad on account of his unbearable fits of coughing. He was very thin at this time, apart from his usual slimness. From time to time in his good-natured laughter could be heard that note of irritability which is habitual with consumptive people. I remember how he once got angry and pulled his hand from the coachman, who had tried to kiss it. True, he said nothing in the presence of the serf, but when the latter went out to see to the horses, he began to complain with annoyance in his voice to me and Borisov: "What made the idiot kiss my hand? It never happened before." [A. Fet, "My Reminiscences, Part I" p326]

Since we have to speak of Tolstoy's relations to his brother during his life and at his death, it may be well to quote Fet's character sketch of this remarkable man:

Count N. N. Tolstoy, who called on us almost every evening, used to bring with him a moral interest and vivacity, which it is difficult to describe in a few words. At that time he was still wearing his uniform as an artillery officer, and it was sufficient to give a glance at his thin hands, his great thoughtful eyes and hollow cheeks to be convinced that cruel consumption had laid its merciless hold on this good natured and kindly humorous man. Unfortunately, this remarkable man, of whom to say that he was loved by those who knew him is not enough, for they simply worshipped him, this man, while in the Caucasus, had acquired that habit of indulgence in alcoholic liquors which at that time was common among officers. Though I afterwart knew N. Tolstoy intimately and spent with him much time in far off hunting fields, where it would have been easier to drink than at evening parties, yet during our three years' friendship I never noticed the slightest symptom of his being overcome by wine or spirits. He would sit in an armchair close to the table and sip his tea with some cognac added to it. Being of a very modest disposition, he needed a great deal of questioning to make him talk. But once launched on any subject, he would reveal all the acutness and mirth of his kind- hearted sense of humor. He evidently adored his youngest borther Lev. But one had to hear how ironically he described his society adventures. He could so definitely separate what is the real substance of life from its gauzy outer seeming, that he treated with equal irony the higher and lower strata of Caucasian life. The celebrated hunter of the sect of old believers, Uncle Epishka (in Tolstoy's "Cossacks" Yeroshka), was evidently discovered and defined with the mastery of an artist by N. Tolstoy. [A. Fet, "My Reminiscences, Part I" p217]

N. N. Tolstoy wrote very little. We only know of his "Memoirs of a Sportsman."

E. Garshin in his "Reminiscences of Turgenev" quotes the following opinion of his concerning N. Tolstoy:

The humility of life [said Turgenev] which was theoretically worked out by Lev Tolstoy, was really practised by his brother. He always lived somewhere in the outskirts of Moscow, in poor lodgings were were more like a hut, and gladly shared what he had with the poorest man. He was a delightful character and a good story-teller, but writing was almost physically impossible for him. The very process of writing was a difficulty with him, just as it is with a laborer whose hands are so roughened by work that he can scarcely hold the pen between his fingers. [E. Garshin, "Reminiscences of Turgenev" Historical Review, November 1883.]

To the general joy of his friends, N. Tolstoy's journey abroad was actually settled. This joy, however, was of short duration.

He left Russia via St. Petersburg with his brother Sergey.

Turgenev, who had a strong regard for him, felt very anxious and wrote to Fet fromSodene on June 1, 1860:

What you tell me of Nikolay Tolstoy's illness grieves me deeply. Is it possible that this dear, good fellow must perish? How could any one neglect such an illness? Is it possible that he did not try to overcome his indolence and go abroad for his health? He used to travel to the Caucasus in most infernally uncomfortable vehicles. Why not make him come to Sodene? One meets here dozens of sufferers from chest complaints: the Sodene waters are almost the best, if not the best for such cases. I say all this to you at a distance of two thousand versts, as if my words were of some help....If Tolstoy has not yet started, he will not go....This is how fate plays with us all. [A. Fet, "My Reminiscences, Part I", pp 328, 329]

He repeats the same in the postscript of the same letter:

If N. Tolstoy has not yet gone, throw yourself at his feet and implore him, then drive him by force abroad. The air here, for instance, is so mild, nothing of the kind exists in Russia. [Ibid]

Of course Tolstoy was very much alarmed by his brother's illness. Here is a letter written about that time by him to Fet, in which, besides his anxiety about his brother, he expressed certain views on agricultural work:

...That besides your literary work you wish to find a place on the earth and burrow about in it like an ant - -such an idea was not only bound to suggest itself to you, but you are sure to realize it better than myself, being, as you are, a good man with a healthy outlook on life. However, it is not for me at the present moment to patronizingly approve or disapprove of you, for I am burdened with a sense of great inconsistency. Farming in the big way I am doing, oppresses me; personal labor on the land I can only as yet contemplate at a distance. On the other hand, I am oppressed by family worries, the illness of Nikolenka, of whom there is yet no news from abroad, and the departure of my sister in three days' time depress me. In general, I feel undone. Owing to my sister's helplessness and the desire to see Nikolas, I will tomorrow procure a passport for abroad and will perhaps accompany them, especially if I do not get any news or get bad news from Nikolas.

At that time a pause ensued in the literary activity of both Tolstoy and his friend Fet, who, though feebly, yet accurately reflected the inner process going on in Tolstoy's life.

The following are examples of the well-reasoned letters written by Druzhinin to Tolstoy and Fet, inciting them to literary work. His letter to Tolstoy is particularly interesting:

I hasten, my amiable friend Tolstoy, to answer your letter concerning your attitude to literature. As you will probably understand, every writer is attacked by moments of doubt and dissatisfaction with himself; it does not matter how strong and natural this feeling is, nobody relinquishes literature in consequence, but all write on till the end of life. But all your good and evil impulses stick to you with peculiar tenacity, and therefore you are more bound to think over it than anybody else, and you should consider the whole matter in a genial manner.

"In the first place, remember that, compared with the labor of poetry and thought, all other labors seem trivial. Qui a bu, boira, and for a writer to give up his activity at the age of thirty means depriving himself of one-half of all the interests of life. And this is only one of the difficulties of the matter; there is much of wider significance.

"On all of us there rests a responsibility attached to the extreme importance of literature to Russian society. An Englishman or an American would laugh, if told that in Russia not only men who are thirty years old, but gray-haired landowners possessing two thousand serfs, pore over a novelette of a hundred pages which has appeared in a magazine, is being devoured by everybody, and provokes talk in society for a whole day. It does not matter by what art you try to explain this matter, it is not to be explained by means of art. What in other countries is only talk of careless dilettantism, in ours takes a different shape. In our country things have come to this, that a novelette a diversion and the lowest kind of literature becomes either useless trash or the voice of a new mind for the whole Empire. For instance, we all know Turgenef's weakness, but a whole ocean separates his poorest novelette from the very best novels of Mrs. Eugenie Toor's with her half-talent. The Russian public, having a peculiar taste, has from a crowd of writers chosen four or five as superior to the rest, and values them as new minds, disregarding all considerations and inferences. Partly through your talents, partly owing to the bright traits of your spirit, and partly to the lucky concurrence of circumstances, you are placed in a favorable position for influencing the public; consequently it is impossible to retire and hide oneself, one must work on till one's strength and This is one side of the matter, but are a member of a literary circle, which is honest, independent, and influential, as far as possible, and which, during ten years of persecution and reverses, still, in spite of its own shortcomings, firmly upholds the banner of everything that makes for Liberalism and enlightenment, and bares all the pressure of the ironies of life without ever committing a mean action.

" In spite of all the coldness of society, its want of enlightenment, and its tendency to treat literature with mere condescension, "his circle has gained respect and moral force, and even if, as no doubt is the case, there are shallow, not to say foolish and insignificant people in it, still they add something to the whole, and are not quite useless. Notwithstanding the short time it is since you arrived, you have a place and a voice in this circle, such as, for instance, Ostrovsky does not possess, though he has great talent, and is as much respected for his moral attitude as you are for yours. It would take too long to find out how this has come about, but that is not the chief thing. Once having cut yourself off from the literary circle and surrendered yourself to inactivity, you will feel lonely, and will deprive yourself of an important role in society. Here I finish my dissertation owing to lack of space in the letter; if these suggestions of interest to you, you will develop and complete them yourself."

With the same friendly advice he addresses Fet:

"DEAR FET What I said to Tolstoy I to your intention to write no more. Stick to your resolution till you are ready to write something good; but when you are able to write, then you will change your mind without outside influence.

"To keep good poetry and a good book unpublished is impossible, had you sworn a thousand oaths to do so; so you need not trouble. For these last two or three years you and Tolstoy have been in an uninspired mood, and you act wisely in keeping silent; but as soon as the soul is stirred and something good is created, you will both break silence. Therefore don't bind yourselves with promises, the more so because nobody expects any from either of you. What is not right in Tolstoy's resolution and yours is this they have originated under the influence of a certain grudge against literature and the public. But if an author is to be offended at every manifestation of indifference and every piece of harsh criticism, there will be no one left to do any writing except Turgenef, who manages somehow to be everybody's friend. To take to heart literary squabbles is, in my opinion, the same thing as to get angry with the horse you are riding for misbehaving while you are in a poetic mood. I may tell you that I have been abused and offended to a degree, yet this has not deprived me of a particle of my appetite; on the contrary, I have found a peculiar pleasure in my determination to sit firmly and move forward, and I shall certainly not stop writing till I have said all I think necessary to say."

Druzhinin was certainly mistaken in thus attributing his friends' silence to irritation against the public. If such an irritation existed, it was but the outcome of the same cause which kept them from writing, the conviction that neither the reader nor the author had any firm moral basis and bond of union for mutual understanding.

The authors did not know what to write; the readers, ac represented by the critics, did not know what to demand from the authors. This would continue to be the case till some great event of life or history would stir the brain and feeling of the author and incite him to activity.

Let us return to N. Tolstoy's illness.

On his way abroad he wrote to Fet from St. Petersburg:

" My dear friends, Fet and Ivan Petrovich, I keep my promise even before I gave it. I intended to write from abroad, and now I write from St. Petersburg. We are off on Saturday I. e., to-morrow. I consulted Zdekauer, he is a St. Petersburg doctor, and not a Berlin man, as I made out from Turgenef's letter. The watering-place Turgenef is staying at, Sodene, is the same that we are sent to, consequently my address, too, is Francfort on Main."

Following this, Fet received his second letter sent from Sodene itself:

" Not having heard from you, I write to inform you that I reached Sodene safely; however, they did not fire any cannon at my arrival. In Sodene we found Turgenef, who is alive and well, so well that he himself owns he is 'perfectly' well. He has discovered a certain German girl, and is very enthusiastic about her. We (it refers to dear old Turgenef) play at chess, but somehow it does not work: he is thinking about his German girl, and I about getting well. As I have sacrificed this autumn, I must become a giant by next autumn. Sodene is an excellent place. I have been scarcely a week here, and feel already a great deal better. We are, my brother and I, in lodgings. rooms we pay twenty guldens is a week, table d'hote = one gulden, wine forbidden. From this you can infer what an unpretending place Sodene is, but I like it. Facing my windows grows a not exactly beautiful tree, still a bird has made its home there and sings on it every evening; it reminds me of the wing of the building at Novosyolky.

" Give my regards to Marya Petrovna and be well, my friends, and write to me often. I believe I shall stay a long time at Sodene, about six weeks at least. I do the journey, because I was ill all the time. Once more, good-by.''

On July 3d Tolstoy, with his sister and her children, took the steamer at St. Petersburg to go to Stettin for Berlin.

The illness of his brother was the reason which hastened Tolstoy's departure abroad, though he had been ready long before. His purpose was to get acquainted with what had been done in Europe for popular education.

" After a year spent by me in work among the schools (in Russia)," says Tolstoy in his Confession, " I went abroad for the second time in order there to find out how I could manage to learn to teach others without knowing anything myself."

But Tolstoy could thus severely criticize the object of his journey only twenty years later, when he gave himself up to the study of this subject with all the passionate fervor of his temperament.

The illness and death of his brother did not stop this work, it only divided the journey in two parts.

We will try to describe more fully what took place.

From Stettin Tolstoy arrived in Berlin with his sister, who continued her journey to join her brother at Sodene, while Tolstoy remained for a few days in Berlin.

He attended the university, and was present at the lectures given by Droysen, the Professor of History, and also at those of Dubois-Raymond, the Professor of Physics and Physiology. Besides this, Tolstoy went to the evening classes for artisans Handwerksverein and got very much interested in the popular lectures of one prominent professor, especially in the system of " query-boxes." This method of national education was till then unknown to Tolstoy, and it struck him by its animation and the freedom of intercourse which it encouraged between the representatives of science and the people at large. Unfortunately, forty years have since gone by, but Russia has not yet reached this simple method of educating the people. The police censorship, theological and lay, makes the application of the system impossible.

After this Tolstoy visited the Moabit Prison, with its newly introduced method of scientific torture, known by the name of solitary confinement. Needless to say, this new invention did not produce a favorable impression on him.

He left Berlin on July 14th.

He stopped for a day in Leipsic to examine the schools, and, having crossed the so-called " Swiss-Saxony," which impressed him very much by its beauty, he paused at Dresden, where he met the well-known popular writer Berthold Auerbach.

The American writer, Schuyler, in gives Tolstoy's account of this interview, amplifying it by a few details collected afterward:

" In helping Tolstoy to arrange his library, I noticed that the works of Auerbach occupied the honored place on the first shelf. He took the two volumes of Ein Neues Leben, and told me to read that very remarkable book when I went to bed, adding:

" To this author I was indebted for the opening of a school for my peasants, and for so becoming interested in national education. When I went abroad for the second time, I visited Auerbach without naming myself. When he came into the room I only said, ' I am Eugene Baumann," and when he showed astonishment I made haste to add, 'not actually by name, but by character.' And then I told him who I was, how his writings had compelled me to think, and what a good effect they had upon me.

" In the following winter," continues Schuyler, " I had an opportunity of spending a few days in Berlin. While there, under the hospitable roof of the American ambassador, Mr. Bancroft, I had the pleasure of meeting Auerbach, with whom I got very well acquainted during that time. In speaking of Russia, we turned to Tolstoy, and I reminded him of the incident.

"'Yes,' he said, 'I remember how I was taken aback by the odd-looking gentleman, when he told me he was Eugene Baumann, for I was afraid he would threaten me with prosecution for defamation or libel.'"

The examination of the schools in Saxony did not satisfy Tolstoy.

In his travelling notes we find the following short description of these schools:

" I visited a school. It was dreadful. Prayers for the King, whippings, everything learned by heart, frightened, mentally distorted children."

On July 19th he continued his journey, and arrived at Kissingen, where he was near his brother.

In Kissingen he continued to read a great deal; on natural science he read Bacon; on religion, Luther; on politics, Riehl. He probably read Herzen at the same time, for there is a short entry about him in his diary.

" Herzen a scattered intellect, sick with vanity, but broad, agile and kind, distinguished, purely Russian."

In Kissingen Tolstoy made the acquaintance of Julius Froebel, the German sociologist, author of The System of National Politics, and nephew of the educationist Froebel, the founder of the Kindergarten.

According to Froebel, Tolstoy astonished him by his strong views, which were quite new to the German scholar, and seemed not to harmonize with his " system."

" Progress in Russia," Tolstoy said, " must emanate from national education, which will give better results in our country than in Germany, because the Russian people are not yet perverted, whereas the Germans resemble a child who has been for several years undergoing a wrong education."

Popular instruction must not be compulsory, such was his idea. If it is good, he said, then the need of it must be born of itself, just as the desire of nutrition is created by hunger.

He expressed with great animation his views upon communal peasant ownership of land, and saw in the " artel " the future of social organization. Froebel often smiled as he listened to similar views expressed by Tolstoy with reference to the German people. Tolstoy was struck by not finding in a single German peasant household either Village Tales or the works of Goebel. Russian peasants, he declared, would have shed tears over such books.

The impressions received by him from Berthold Auerbach in Dresden, and from Froebel during their walks together, confirmed him in a task the outline of which had only existed vaguely in his mind. The author of The System of Social Politics pointed out to him that the works of Riehl were more in sympathy with his (Tolstoy's) views, and Tolstoy, with all the ardor of youth, began to study The Natural History of the People as the Foundation of German Social Policy.

The nephew of Frederic Froebel was also by vocation an educationist. He made Tolstoy acquainted with the ideas of the founder of the Kindergarten system.

In Kissingen Tolstoy visited all the suburbs, which are rich in natural beauty and historical reminiscences. He crossed the Harz, stopped at some towns in Thuringia, and from Eisenach went on to Wartburg.

The personality of the German reformer, whose hard struggle is recalled by Wartburg, interested Tolstoy very much. Luther's rupture with the old traditions, his bold and upright progressive activity, and the ideas of which he was a representative, carried Tolstoy completely away, and after a visit to the room in which were written the first words of the Bible in German, he wrote this short sentence: " Luther is great."

Meanwhile the invalid N. Tolstoy wrote to Fet on July 19th:

I would have written long ago, my dear friends, only I wanted to give you the news of all our Tolstoy household, but a great muddle ensued some time ago, which at last cleared up in this way: my sister and her children arrived at Sodene, where she will stay and pursue her cure; Uncle Lyovochka remains at Kissingen, five hours distant from Sodene, and is not coming to Sodene, so that I shall not see him. Your letter I have sent to Lyovochka, by my brother Sergey, who will call at Kissingen on his way to Russia. He will call on you soon, and tell you everything in detail. Forgive me, dear Afanasy Afanasyevich, I have read your letter to my brother. There is much truth in it, when you speak of things in general; but when you mention yourself, you are not right; there is always the same defect of being unbusinesslike; you do not know yourself, and you know nothing of what is around you. But pots are not boiled by the gods; now, be practical, go unhesitatingly into business, and I am sure it will drive the babbler out of you; besides, it will probably squeeze out of you some lyrical verses, more fellows would read with pleasure. As to the rest of the world forget it. What I love you for, my dear Afanasy Afanasyevich, is this, that what comes out of you is in you, and is as is the case with dear old Ivan Sergeyevich. Yet I feel quite lonely without him in Sodene, apart from the fact that our chess club has come to grief. Even my appetite is not the same, since I have ceased to sit beside his stout and healthy figure, asking either for carrots to add to the meat, or meat to add to the carrots. I have often talked with him of you, especially lately. ' Now Fet is starting, now Fet is coming, now Fet is shooting at last.' Ivan Sergeyevich has bought a dog a black pointer half-breed. I have finished my water cure and intend to undertake a few excursions. Yet my chief quarters will be Sodene and the address the same."

Nicolay Tolstoy left so few literary works that we quote below some of his letters to the common friend of the Tolstoy brothers, Dimitri Alexeyevich Diakof. Although their contents are not very rich, still they reflect his kindheartedness.

He wrote to Diakof twice from Sodene:

I. DEAR DIAKOF Did you get my letter from St. Petersburg? If you did, you are committing a crime by not answering. What is the matter with you ? I hope all your folks are well for Christ's sake answer me if Darya Alexandrovna is going abroad. When, to what place, or is she gone already? If I knew all this I would go to meet her straight off. I have done taking mineral waters and now I am resting. My sister is at Sodene too, she will stay four weeks. My address is: Sodene, near Francfort-on-Main, Landlust House, etc.

" My health has improved, but I am not well yet; I dare say I could say the same about your people. For Christ's sake, let me know how you are managing your household, what plans you have made, etc. Lyovochka is in Kissingen; Seryozha was with me in Solene; he got stumped by playing roulette and went back to Russia; he will probably call at your place. Yours, COUNT N. TOLSTOY."

" July 19th.

2. " I don't know how to thank you, Darya Alexandrovna, for your postscript; it means that you have not forgotten your neighbor. How is your health? How is Masha? I expect we shall meet this year, and I look forward to it with delight; only let me know where you are, and I will look you up at once. My sister is at Sodene with me, and begs me to remember her to you. We are both of us cursing the weather just fancy, we had no summer here. The wind blows and it rains all the time, not only in Sodene but all over Europe. Do not let this frighten you; do come and bring us some nice weather. With esteem and respect, your faithfully.

COUNT N. TOLSTOY.

I am afraid, dear Dimitri, that this letter will not reach you in time; if you get it, let me know immediately where you are going. Where will you pass the autumn? That's the chief point. My address is the same as before Sodene as I don't know myself where I shall go after this. I have been prescribed grapes and a good climate, however neither of them can be found in Europe this year. My sister's regards to you. Yours, N. TOLSTOY.

"August 28th."

After this, very unsatisfactory news began to arrive from Sodene. N. Tolstoy had enjoyed a few weeks in a beautiful spot, in company with his sister and her children and his brother Sergey, but his health did not improve. The doctors advised him to move to Italy.

On August 6th Sergey Nicolayevich Tolstoy returned home. Naturally, he took the opportunity to stop at Kissingen, which takes a five hours' journey, to see his brother Lyof and inform him of the serious fears they entertained concerning the health of Nicolay. Three days after, on the very date when Sergey Nicolayevich had to start for Russia, his brother Nicolay arrived at Kissingen. Their sister and her children remained at cure.

Nicolay Tolstoy stayed a short time in Kissingen and went back to Sodene, but Lyof Tolstoy remained for some time on the Garz, enjoying nature and devoting his leisure to reading.

At last he came to Sodene on August 26th. everything was ready for departure, and on August 29th Tolstoy with his brother went to Freiburg.

Evidently powerful idiosyncrasies had made Tolstoy very original even in appearance. We frightened Auerbach. In Francfort a similar incident hap-pened. His aunt A. A. Tolstoy speaks of it thus:

" We arrived at Francfort. One day Prince Alexander of Hessen and his wife called on me, and during their visit and Tolstoy appeared in a most singular dress, reminding one of Spanish robbers as seen in pictures. I simply gasped, so great was my astonishment.... Tolstoy was not pleased with my visitors and soon went away.

"' Qui est done ce singulier personnage'' asked my astonished guests.

" 'Mais c'est Leon Tolstoy.'

"'Ah, mon Dieu, pourquoi ne l'avez vous pas nomme? Apres avoir lu ses admirables ecrits nous mourions d'envie de le voir,' they reproached me."

From Francfort all the Tolstoy family, by advice of their doctors, moved to Hyeres on the Mediterranean. But poor Nicolay Tolstoy did not benefit by it and died shortly afterward.

A few days after his arrival Tolstoy wrote his aunt Tatiana a letter in which the hope that his brother would recover is still perceptible.

" The state of Nicolay's health is still the same, but it is only here that we can expect any improvement, for the kind of life he led in Sodene, the journey, and the bad weather were on the contrary sure to injure him. Here the weather has been splendid these three days, and they say it has been fine all along. There is here a certain Princess Galitzin who has been living in the country for nine years. Marie has made her acquaintance, and this princess says she arrived here in a much worse state than that of Nicolay, and now she is a sturdy woman in perfectly good health."

But Nicolay was getting worse and worse. A few days before his death he wrote to Diakof in Paris; his handwriting had become faint and straggling, and he himself confessed that his strength was failing him.

" I write you a few lines to let you know where I am. I and my sister are passing the winter at Hyeres. Here is my address and that of Lyovochka as well Mme. Senequier's House, Rue du Midi, Hyeres. Alas! I could not go to Paris, such a journey is beyond my strength, I an. too weak. As soon as you arrive and find my letter, let me know where you stopped, how you completed the journey, etc. If we cannot see each other, let us keep up correspondence. Yours entirely, N. TOLSTOY.''

September 20, 1860 (N. S.), he died, and Tolstoy thus informs his aunt Tatiana of it:

" DEAR AUNT The black seal will expecting from hour to has happened to-day at nine in the morning. Only yesterday evening did he for the first time allow me to help him to undress; this morning for the first time he returned to bed and asked for a nurse. He was conscious the whole time. A quarter of an hour before his death he drank some milk and told me he felt well. This morning he even joked and showed interest in my plans of education. Only a few minutes before death he murmured several times, ' My God, my God!' I think he felt his position, but deceived us and himself.... I have only just closed his eyes. I shall now soon be with you and personally relate everything to you. I do not think of bringing back his body. The Princess Galitzin has undertaken to arrange everything concerning the burial.

" Good-by, dear Aunt. I cannot console you. It is the will of God, that is all. I am not now writing to Sergey. He is probably out hunting him or send him this letter."

On the day following the funeral he also brother Sergey concerning it:

" You have, I presume, heard of Nicolenka's death. I am sorry for you that you were not here. However painful it is, I am glad all this took place in my presence, and that it has affected me as it should have done. Not like the death of Mitenka, of which I learned when I was not thinking at all about him. However, this is quite a different thing. With Mitenka were associated memories of childhood and family feeling and no more; but this was, for you and for me, a man whom we loved and respected positively more than any one on earth. You know the selfish feeling which used latterly to take hold of us 'the sooner it is finished the better '; but now it is dreadful to write and to recall those thoughts. Till the last day, with his extraordinary force of character and concentration of mind, he did everything to avoid being a burden to me. On the day of his death he dressed and washed himself, and in the morning I found him dressed in his arm-chair. It was only about nine hours before his death that he surrendered to his illness and requested to be undressed. The first time was in the lavatory. I had ~one downstairs when I heard his door open; I returned, he was nowhere to be found. At first I was afraid of entering the lavatory; he did not like it, but I heard him out, ' Help me! '

" And on that day he gave himself up and became subdued and submissive; he did not groan, did not criticize any one, praised all, and kept saying to me: 'Thank you, my friend.' You understand what this means in our relations. I told him I had heard how he was coughing in the morning, but I shrank from coming in from a foolish kind of shyness. 'I am sorry, it would have consoled me.' He did suffer, but only once, two days before his death, he said: ' What dreadful, sleepless nights! Toward the morning the cough chokes one, a whole month! and what visions one had God only knows. Again two nights more like this it is awful.' Never once did he clearly say he felt the approach of death. But I only mean he did not express it. On the day of his death he ordered an indoor suit; yet, at the same time, when I said that, if he did not get better, Mashenka and myself would not go to Switzerland, he replied, 'Do you really imagine I shall get better?' And that in such a tone that it was evident he felt his position, but did not speak of it for my sake, and I did not show what I thought for his. Yet, when that day came, I seemed to know, and I was with him all the time. He died without any suffering, at least so far as we could see. His breath became slower and slower and all was over. The next day I went into his room and was afraid to uncover the face. I thought it would show still greater marks of suffering and fill me with more awe than during his illness, but you cannot imagine what a beautiful face it was, with his best expression of happiness and peace.

" Yesterday he was buried I thought of removing him and of telegraphing to you, but changed my mind. There is no use irritating the wound. I am sorry for you that the news will reach you while at sport and entirely taken up with your usual distraction, and will not affect you as it did us. It is well that it should be so. I now feel what I have often heard, that when one loses such a one as he was, it becomes much less painful to think of one's own death.

" Your letter came at the very moment of the funeral service. No, you will not water the garden with him any more.

" Two days before his death he read to me his memoirs about sport and spoke much about you. He said that God had made you a happy man in every way, and yet you torment yourself. Only on the second day did I bethink of getting his portrait taken and a mould of his face. The portrait does not catch now his remarkable expression, but the mould is beautiful."

This death produced a strong impression on Tolstoy, and at first repelled him from life and shook his faith in good. This is the entry he makes in his diary:

" 13th Oct., 1860. It will soon be a month since Nicolenka died. Dreadfully has this event torn me away from life. Again the question: Why? I am not far from going there. Where? Nowhere. I am trying to write, compelling myself, but unsuccessfully, for the sole reason that I cannot attribute to my work that significance which is necessary to have the power and the patience to work. During the funeral itself the thought came to me to write a materialistic gospel, the life of Christ a Materialist."

In a letter to Fet of the 17th October, 1860, when the first impressions of the bereavement had already settled down and his inert consciousness again took the ascendency, Tolstoy thus describes his brother's death:

" I presume you already know what has happened. On the 20th of September he died, literally in my arms. Nothing in life has ever produced such an impression upon me. He spoke the truth when he used to say there is nothing worse than death. And when one clearly realizes that it is the end of all, then there is nothing worse than life either. What should' one worry about or strive for, if of that which was Nicolas Tolstoy nothing has remained? He did not say that he felt the approach of death, but I know that he followed its every step and knew for certain how much yet remained. A few minutes before death he fell into a doze and suddenly awoke and murmured with horror: ' But what is this ? ' He had seen it, this absorption of oneself in nothing. And if he found nothing to catch hold of, what can I find? Still less. And it is certain that neither myself nor any one will so struggle with it to the last moment as he did. Two days before his death I offered to place a convenience in his room. 'No,' he said, 'I am weak, but not so weak as that; we will yet struggle on.'

" Until the last moment he did not surrender to death, he did everything himself, kept endeavoring to work, wrote, questioned me about my writings, gave advice. But all this, as it appeared to me, he did, not from inner impulse but on principle. One thing, Nature that remained until the last. The day before his death he was in his room and fell exhausted on his bed by the open window. I came in. He said with tears in his eyes:

"' How I have been enjoying this view for the last hour. " From dust thou art and to dust thou shalt return." Only one thing remains the vague hope that there is in Nature, of which in the earth one will become a part, something which will abide and will be found.'

" All who knew him and saw his last moments say: How wonderfully, peacefully, and quietly he died. But I know how dreadfully painful his end was, for not a single feeling of his escaped me. A thousand times did I say to myself, 'Let the dead bury their dead,' but let us use to some pur-pose our remaining strength. One cannot attempt to persuade a stone to fall upward instead of downward, as attraction takes it. One cannot laugh at a joke one is tired of. One cannot eat when one has no appetite. Of what avail is anything when to-morrow will begin the agonies of death with all the abomination of falsehood and selfdelusion, and when all will end in nothing, in absolute nought for oneself. An amusing situation indeed. 'Be useful, be virtuous, be happy while you are alive,' people say to each other; but thyself and happiness and virtue and utility consist in truth. And the truth I have gathered out of a life of thirty-two years is that the position we are placed in is dreadful. ' Take life as it is,' they continue, you have yourselves put yourselves in this position.' Quite right! I do take life as it is. As soon as men reach the highest degree of development, they clearly see that all is bunkum, deceit; and that truth, which after all they value most that this truth is awful, that when you see it well and rlistinctly you awake with horror and say as my brother did:

But what is this?' But, of course, so long as there is a desire to know and express the truth, one endeavors to know and express it. This is all that has remained for me out of the moral world, and higher than which self. And this only shall I do, but not in the form of your art. Art is a lie, and I can no longer love a beautiful lie.

" I shall pass the winter here for the reason that it matters not where one lives. Please write to me. I love you as my brother did. He remembered you until the last moment."

Tolstoy, who had witnessed thousands of deaths at Sebastopol, had noted them then only with his " bodily " But here the death of a beloved brother made him see death for the first time with his " spiritual " eyes, and he felt quite overcome. Being a sincere man, he frankly acknowledged that he was quite crushed by it, and was helpless before its power. This truthfulness saved him. From that moment one may say the idea of death never left him. It led him to the inevitable spiritual crisis and to final victory.

A month later he wrote the following in relation to another death:

" A boy of thirteen has had a painful death from consumption. What for? The only explanation is given by belief in restitution in the hereafter. If that does not exist, then neither does justice, and justice is not necessary, and the desire of it is a superstition.

" Justice answers to the most essential demand in man's relation to man. The same also does man search for in his relation to the universe. Without future life this does not exist. The adaptation of the means to the end is the only irrefragable law of nature, naturalists will say. But this does not exist in the sphere of the human soul love, poetry; in the best spheres this law does not apply. All these features have been and have gone without finding expression. Nature has far overreached her end in giving man his aspiration toward poetry and love, if her one law is the adaptation of the means to the end."

Twenty-seven years later he wrote a book, Life, which he concluded with these words:

" The life of man is an aspiration toward welfare; what he aspires to is given to him; a life which cannot be death, and a welfare that cannot be evil."

Interesting facts of Tolstoy's life in his sister's at Hyeres after the death of their brother are given by Sergey Plaksin, then a little boy living in the same boarding-house with his mother. He thus relates the settlement and life of the Tolstoys in the Villa Tosh:

" The Count's family occupied the upper floor of the villa, and Tolstoy had his writing-table in the glass-house, with a view over the sea. During his stay in Hyeres, Toloften visited his sister at her summer residence, spending many days there.

" Being an indefatigable walker, Tolstoy would make out our itinerary, always discovering new places for our rambles. One day we would go to see the boiling of salt on the peninsula Porquerolle; another day we would climb up the S. M. to a small chapel with a statue of the Blessed Virgin, or we marched off to see the ruins of a castle called, nobody knew why, ' Trou des fees.'

" On the way Tolstoy used to tell us children all kinds of tales. I remember one about a golden horse, and a gigantic tree from the top of which could be seen all seas and towns. my weak chest, he often put me on his shoulders, and went on with his tales as he walked. Need I add that we simply worshipped him ?

" At dinner in the evening Tolstoy used to good-natured hosts all sorts of amusing nonsense about Russia, which they did not know whether to believe or not, unless the Countess or my mother sifted the truth from the fiction.

" Directly after dinner we used to collect, according to the weather, either on the wide terrace or in the drawingand the bustle would begin. We presented a ballet with a piano mercilessly torturing the ears of our audience; 'we ' being the mothers, Count Tolstoy, and my nurse Liza. The ballet and opera were replaced by gymnastics, when Tolstoy himself appeared as our professor, and insisted chiefly on the development of muscle.

" He would lie stretched on the floor and make us do the same, and then aue had to get up without using our arms. He arranged a certain construction made of strings, and to our greatest delight and joy himself took part in the exercise.

" Whenever we made too much noise, and the mothers appealed to Tolstoy to keep us quiet, he would place us all round the table, and order us to bring ink and pens.

" Here is a sample of our work with Tolstoy.

"'Look here,' he said to us once, ' I will teach you.'

"'Teach us what?' inquired the bright-eyed Lizanka, the lady of my heart.

" Giving no answer to his niece, Tolstoy continued:

" ' Write! '

"'What about, uncle?' insisted Lizanka.

"'Listen, I will give you a theme.'

"'What will you give us?' went on Lizanka.

"'A theme! ' repeated Tolstoy firmly. 'Write an answer to the question: What is the difference between Russia and other countries? Write here, in my presence, and nobody is to copy from anybody else! Do you hear ? ' he added sternly.

" So writing began, as they say, d qui mieux mieux. However much Kolia would bend his head on one side, the lines always crawled to the right upper corner of the sheet. He panted and puffed, producing strange sounds through his nose, but it was of no use for the poor fellow; yet Tol-stoy had strictly forbidden us to write on lined paper, declaring it was nonsense. 'You must write without lines.' While we were engaged in writing our essays, the Countess and my mother would sit down on the sofa and read in a low voice some new French book, while Count Tolstoy walked up and down the room, sometimes making the nervous Countess exclaim:

" ' Why, Lyovochka, you are moving about like a pendulum! I wish you would sit down! '"

"In half an hour our ' essays ' were ready, and mine happened to be the first that our mentor got hold of. He read it; but it was hopeless trying to make out anything in the lines, all running, as they did, up to the top of the page, so he returned me the manuscript, saying:

" ' Read aloud yourself '; and I loudly proclaimed that Russia differs from other countries in this, that at Shrovetide people eat pancakes and go out toboganning, and at Easter they like to color eggs.

" ' Bravo,' exclaimed Tolstoy, and began to decipher the manuscript of Kolya, who asserted that Russia's distinction in 'snow.' With Liza it was the 'troika' a team of three horses.

" The best definition was given by Varia, the eldest of us.

" As a reward for our evening studies Tolstoy brought us water-colors from Marseilles, where he used to go very often from Hyeres, and he taught us to paint.

" Tolstoy used to spend nearly the whole day with us. He taught us, joined in our games, took interest in our squabbles, discussed them, and decided who was,right and who was wrong."

Here we shall quote a story about Tolstoy's life in Hyeres, as related by his sister Marie:

"Tolstoy was always distinguished by his originality, which often amounted to extravagance.

" We lived on in Hyeres after our brother s death. Tolstoy was already well known there, and the Russian community at Hyeres and in its neighborhood sought his acquaintance. Once we were invited to an evening party at the house of the Princess Dandakof-Rorsakof. All those of any distinction were assembled there, and Tolstoy should have been the ' lion' of the evening, but, just as if it were intentional, he did not arrive till very late. The guests were getting low-spirited, the hostess had exhausted her powers of entertainment, and she thought with grief of her spoiled soire. However, at last, at a very late hour, the arrival of the Count Tolstoy was announced. The hostess and the guests cheered up, but one may imagine their surprise when Tolstoy entered the drawing-room in his travelling dress He had just been for a long walk; after the walk he came to the party without calling at his own house, and tried to assure everybody that wooden shoes were the best and most convenient covering for the feet, and advised everybody to get a pair. Even then everything was forgiven him, and the evening party was the more interesting. Tolstoy was in excellent spirits. singing at the party and Tolstoy had to play the accompaniment."

In Hyeres Tolstoy gave himself up literary work. He wrote there The Cossacks, and an article On National Education. He remained in Hyeres till the beginning of December, and then went via Marseilles to Geneva, there he parted from his sister, who had moved there also with her children. From there he started once more on his travels, first visiting Italy, Nice, Leghorn, Florence, Rome, Naples these were the principal points of his journey. In`Italy, according to his own words, he ex-perienced his first lively impressions of antiquity. He went to Paris, again via Marseilles, in fact he visited this last city several times during his foreign travel. The life of the great French industrial town seems to have attracted and interested him.

This is how Tolstoy, in one of tion, describes his stay at Marseilles:

" Last year I was in Marseilles, where I visited schools for the working people of that city. The proportion of the pupils to the population is very great, and the children, with few exceptions, attend school three, four, and even six years.

" The school programme consists in learning by heart the catechism, biblical and universal history, the four operations of arithmetic, French orthography, and book-keeping. In what way book-keeping could form the subject of instruction I was unable to comprehend, and not one teacher could explain it to me. The only explanation I was able to make to myself, when I examined the books kept by the students who had finished the course, was that they did not know even three rules of arithmetic, but that heart to operate with figures, and that, therefore, they had also learned by rote how to keep books. (It that there is no need of proving that the tenue des livres, Buchhaltung, as it is taught in Germany and England, is a science which only requires about four hours of explanation in the case of a pupil who knows the four operations in arithmetic. )

" Not one boy in these schools was able to solve the simplest problem in addition and subtraction. And yet they operated with abstract numbers, multiplying thousands with ease and rapidity. To questions from the history of France they answered well by rote, but if I asked anything at haphazard, I received such answers as that Henry IV had been killed by Julius Caesar....

" In Marseilles I also visited a lay school, and also a monastic school for grown persons. Out of 250,000 inhabitants, less than one thousand, of these only two hundred men, attend these schools. The instruction is the same: mechanical reading, which is acquired in a year or in a longer time, book-keeping without the knowledge of arithmetic, religious instruction, and so forth. After the lay school I saw the daily instruction offered in the churches; I saw the salles d'asile, in which four-year-old children, at a given whistle, like soldiers, made evolutions around the benches, at a given command lifted and folded their hands, and with strange, quivering voice sang laudatory hymns to God and to their benefactors, and I convinced myself that the educational institutions of the city of Marseilles were exceedingly bad.

" If, by some miracle, a person should visit all these establishments, without having seen the people in the streets, in their shops, in the cafés, in their home surroundings, what opinion would he form of a nation which was educated in such a manner? He certainly would conclude that that nation was ignorant, rude, hypocritical, full of prejudices, and almost barbarous. But it is enough to enter into relations with, and talk to a common man, to be convinced that the French nation is, on the contrary, almost such as it regards itself to be: intelligent, clever, affable, free from prejudices, and really civilized. Look at a city workman of about thirty years of age: he will write a letter without such mistakes as are made at school, often without any mistakes at all; he has an idea of politics, consequently of modern history and geography; he knows more or less history from novels; he has some knowledge of the natural sciences. He frequently draws and applies mathematical formulæ to his trade. Where did he learn all this?

" I found an answer to it in Marseilles without any trouble when, after the schools, I began to stroll down the streets to frequent the dram-shops, cafés chantants, museums, workshops, quays, and bookstalls. The very boy who told me that Henry IV had been killed by Julius Caesar knew very well the story of the Three Musketeers and of Monte Cristo. I found twenty-eight illustrated editions of these in Marseilles, costing from five to ten centimes. To a population of 250,000 they sell 30,000 of them; consequently, if we suppose that ten people read or listen to one copy, we find that all have read them. In addition there are the museum, the public libraries, and the theatres. Then the cafes, two large cafes chantants, where any one may enter for fifty centimes worth of food or drink, and where there daily as many as 25,000 people, not counting the smaller hold as many more: in each of these cafes they give little comedies and scenes, and recite verses. Taking the lowest calculation, we get one-fifth of the population get their daily oral instruction, just as the Greeks Romans were instructed, in their amphitheatres.

" Whether this education is good or bad is another rnatter; but here it is, this unconscious education, which is so much more powerful than the one by compulsion; here is the unconscious school which has undermined the compulsory school, and has made its significance dwindle down almost to nothing. There is left of the latter only the despotic form with hardly any inner significance. I say with 'hardly any,' because I exclude the mere mechanical ability of putting letters together and writing down words the only knowledge which is carried away after study."

In January, I86l, Tolstoy was in Paris. As in every place, he here tried to observe the ways of the people.

" When I was in Paris," he said to Schuyler, " I generally passed half my time in omnibuses, simply to amuse mvself in observing the people; and I can assure you that in every passenger I recognized one of the de Kock."

In his conversation with nied Paul de Kock's alleged immorality.

" In French literature," he said to Schuyler, " I highly value the novels of Alexandre Dumas and Paul de Kock."

Upon Schuyler expressing his consternation, Tolstoy continued:

" No," he added, " don't tell me any of that nonsense about Paul de Kock being immoral. He is somewhat improper according to English ideas, he is more or less what the French call leste and gaulois, but never immoral Whatever he may say in his writings, and notwithstanding his slight jocose liberties, his tendency is completely moral. He is a French Dickens; his characters are all taken from life, and are as perfect as Dickens's.

" As for Dumas, every novelist must understand him. His plots are splendid, not to speak of their finish. I can read them over and over again, but plots and intrigues are his principal aim."

In Paris Tolstoy saw Turgenef, and their interview brought them somewhat nearer together.

After this Tolstoy went to London, and there met Herzen. He remained in London for six weeks, and saw Herzen almost every day. They had long talks, and discussed the most interesting subjects. Unfortunately neither Herzen nor Tolstoy made notes of these conversations.

A few lines describing their first meeting appear in the reminiscences of Mme. Tuchkof-Ogaref:

" Herzen was also visited by L. N. Tolstoy, whose Childhood, Boyhood, and Youth were well known all over the reading world. Herzen was delighted with them. He particularly admired the boldness of Tolstoy in treating of delicate, deeply seated feelings, experienced perhaps by many, but expressed by none. As to his philosophic views, Herzen considered them weak, hazy, and often unconvincing."

More is told by Herzen's daughter, Natalya Alexandrovna, who has a vague recollection of this meeting. She was then a little girl, but had already read Tolstoy's works and was enthusiastic about them. Hearing from her father that Tolstoy was coming, she asked permission to be pres-ent at the interview. At the appointed day and hour she entered her father's study and sat in a chair at the farthest corner, so as not to be noticed. Soon after the man-servant announced the arrival of Count Tolstoy. With a sinking heart she waited for his appearance, but great was her disappointment when she beheld a man dressed in the latest fashion, of society manners, and who began to talk enthusiastically about cock-fights and prize-fights, of which he had seen a good deal in London. Not one word from the heart, not one word which came up to her expectations did she hear during the only meeting at which she was present.

However, we may surmise that the intercourse of the two great Russian writers was not limited to the subject of sport, considering that at their farewell meeting Herzen gave Tolstoy a letter of introduction to Proudhon.

While in England, Tolstoy, as always, visited schools; he went, too, to the House of Commons, where he listened to a speech of three hours' duration from Palmerston.

In England he learned of his being appointed a Peace Mediator,' and on February 19, 1861, the day of the abolition of serfdom, he started for home via Brussels, where he visited Proudhon. This energetic, independent thinker, himself from the ranks of the people, made a powerful impression on Tolstoy, and probably influenced his views. One day during a conversation Tolstoy said that Proudhon gave him the impression of a strong man who has le courage de son opinion. The well-known aphorism of Proudhon, La propriete c'est le vol, might well have been used as an epigram in any of Tolstoy's essays of economics.

While in Brussels, Tolstoy also visited the Polish historian and politician Lelewel, who lived there in old age and great poverty. In the same city Tolstoy the story Polikushka. On April 13th to Russia via Germany.

In Germany the first town There he was a guest of von Maltitz, the Russian ambassador, who introduced him to the Knight-Marshal Bolisy-Morconet, and the latter in his turn presented him to the Grand Duke, Charles Alexander. On April Ith Maltitz also furnished him with the means of visiting Goethe's dwelling-place, which was then closed to the public. But Tolstoy took more interest in Froebel's Kindergartens, which were conducted under the management of Minna Schelholm, who was a direct pupil of Froebel's; she gladly gave the Russian Count, who was so fond of knowledge, information about her teaching and showed him how children played and studied.

Dr. Von Bode recently inserted an interesting article entitled " Tolstoy in Weima ," in a Weimar educational journal named Der Saemann (The Sower), in which, besides generally known facts, he relates a story by Julius Stoetrer, who knew Tolstoy personally, and who died only this year. Tolstoy visited his school at Weimar. Here is the story:

" On Good Friday, just as lessons began, at one o'clock, I was in the second class and was about to commence teaching, when a pupil of the seminary opened the door and said, peeping in, 'A gentleman wants to see you.'

" A gentleman followed without giving his name, and I took him for a German, as he spoke as good German as any of us. 'What lesson are you going to have this afternoon?' he asked. 'History first, then German,' I replied.

" ' I am very glad to hear it! I have visited schools of Southern Germany, France, and England; and should like to get acquainted with those of North Germany too. How many grades are there in your school ? '

" ' Seven. This is the second. However, I do not know my pupils yet, as I am just commencing, so that I cannot gratify your curiosity.'

"'That makes no difference to me. The plan and the method of instruction are what I care about. Please tell me what plan you follow in teaching history ? '

" I had worked out my own plan of teaching history and explained it to the schoolmaster, which was what I believed my guest to be.

" He produced his memorandum-book from his pocket and began hurriedly making notes. Suddenly he said:

" 'It looks as if one thing had been left out in this rather elaborate plan. Native history.'

" ' No, it is not omitted. The next grade is devoted to the history of the Fatherland.'

" I had to begin the lesson, so I started with telling about the four degrees of culture. The foreigner went on making notes. When the lesson was over he asked: 'What comes next?'

"'I really intended beginning to you prefer something else it can be changed.'

"'I am glad of this. You see, I've pondered a good deal how to make thoughts flow fluently.'

" This expression of his I shall never forget. I gratify him, and asked the children to write a short composition. I named a subject, and the children had to write a letter on it in their copy-books. This seemed to interest the stranger very much; he walked between the benches, took up the pupils' copy-books by turns and tried to make out how they wrote and what about.

" Not to distract the children I kept my seat. When the work was coming to an end, the foreigner said: ' Can I take these compositions with me ? They are of the utmost interest to me ? '

" ' Thats' a little too much,' thought I, but told him politely that it was impossible. 'The children,' I said, 'have purchased their copy-books, and the price of each is six groschen, Weimar is a poor town, and their parents will be angry if they have to get new copy-books.'

"'That can be overcome,' he said, and stepped outside.

" I felt uneasy, so I sent a pupil to ask Herr Monhaupt, the headmaster, and a friend of mine, to come to our class, as something unusual was taking place. Monhaupt came.

"'You have played a nice trick on me,' said I; 'you have sent a queer fellow to me who wants to deprive the scholars of their copy-books.' ' I never did such a thing,' said Monhaupt. ' But,' I replied, 'you are the director of the seminary, and he was brought to me by one of your pupils.'

" Monhaupt recollected then that during his absence an official of importance had called at his place and told his wife that the gentleman who was accompanying him should be assisted in every way and shown everything.

" In the meantime the stranger came back carrying a large package of writing paper in his hands, which he had bought in the nearest shop. When he came I had to introduce him to the director, and they exchanged credentials.

"' Monhaupt, the director,' said the one.

"'The Count Tolstoy, from Russia,' said the other.

" So this was a Count and not a schoolmaster a Russian who spoke German quite fluently.

" We bade the children rewrite their compositions on the sheets of paper that had been bought. Tolstoy collected all the sheets, rolled them up, and gave them to his servant, who was waiting outside.

" From my place he went to the director of the professional school, Trebsti, whom he knew and who had been in Russia."

Dr. Bode finished his article with the following words, dedicated to the memory of his old teacher:

" One more word concerning Julius Stoetrer. On Easter Sunday, 1905, he died, at the age of nearly ninetythree. I considered him a remarkable man because he was acquainted with the two people whose books have taught me the very best I know. He knew Tolstoy and Goethe. It is a fact that Stoetrer had conversed with Goethe himself. In 1828 he was attending a gymnasium at Weimar, and lived with a school friend of his and Eckermann in the same house, within a few steps of Goethe's home. Both boys often saw the old man sitting by the window. But they wanted to get a closer look at him, so they asked Eckermann, who was good enough to give them an opportunity.

" One summer day in 1828 Eckermann admitted both boys to Goethe's garden by the back door. The poet was taking a stroll in the garden, dressed in a light, home-made coat; having noticed the scholars, he came up to them, asked what their names were and what they wanted; told them to be diligent in their studies, and walked on.

" There was nothing striking about this conversation, but though Stoetrer, being a splendid schoolmaster and an agreeable man, had been received with respect all his life yet he had never encountered anything which gave him such lasting joy as this talk with his greatest contemporary."

While continuing his journey through Germany Tolstoy visited Gotha, saw the Froebel Kindergartens, and made acquaintance with prominent educationists. In Jena he made the acquaintance of the young mathematician, Keller, and persuaded him to go to Russia to help him in his educational work. He stopped for a short time at Dresden, where he again saw Auerbach. He makes the following short, fragmentary description of him in his diary:

"Dresden, April 21st. Auerbach is a most delightful man. Ein Licht mir eingefangen. His stories: A Juryman; On the First Impression of Nature; Versoehnung; Abend; The Pastor Klauser.

" Christianity he called the spirit of mankind, higher than which there is nothing. He reads verse exquisitely. About music as Plqichtloser Genuss. A turning point, according to his opinion, toward depravity. The story from SchatzAaestlein. He is forty-nine years old. He is straightforward, young, believing, free from the spirit of negation."

From Dresden he wrote to his aunt Tatiana the following lines:

" I am well and burning with a desire to return to Russia. Being in Europe, and not knowing when I can return, you will understand that I wish to get as much good as possible from my stay abroad. And this time I think I have succeeded. I am bringing back so many impressions, so much information, that I shall have to work a long time before I can put them all in order in my head. I intend to remain at Dresden until the 1O/22, and, for Easter, I intend at all events being at Yasnaya. From here should navigation not be resumed by the 25th I shall go by Warsaw to St. Petersburg, where I must get the necessary sanction for a periodical I intend editing at Yasnaya Polyana. I am bringing with me a German from the university who is a teacher and clerk a very agreeable and well-educated man, but still quite young and inexperienced."

On April 22d he was in Berlin, and there met the son of the celebrated educationist Diesterweg, the head of the Teachers' Institute. He expected to find him a man of enlightenment and free from prejudice, with original on the subject of education, but he proved, to use Tolstoy's expression, to be a cold, heartless prig, who thought it possible to develop and guide children's souls by means of and regulations.

During the hour they spent in discussing schools and educational matters the chief subject of their conversation was the difference in the conception of the words: education, instruction, and teaching.

" Diesterweg spoke with malicious sarcasm of people who made such subdivisions, as, according to him, all these ran together. And yet we spoke of education, culture, and instruction, and we clearly understood each other."

As we advance we shall see that Tolstoy was dissatisfied not only with the views of this educationist, but with all the methods he studied in the schools of Western Europe, and that he made use of the experience gained in France, England, and Germany for his Polyana only in the sense that he worked on still more independent lines than before.

Berlin was the last foreign town in which Tolstoy stayed. On April 23, 1861, after a nine months' absence, he recrossed the Russian frontier.

As one might expect, the heavy German Wissenschaft did not satisfy Tolstoy, though he applied his best gifts and all his soul to the study of it theoretical as well as practical enlarging and clearing up all, whatever was not evident, by means of conversations with its most prominent representatives and by watching the application of its methods in the schools.

The study of this department of learning strengthened Tolstoy's idea that it was necessary to begin anew from the beginning, i. e., that he must, quite independently, start the work of educating the people on lines of his own, and he plunged into it heart and soul.

The German theories did not help Tolstoy, because they did not satisfy his demands, which were too high, and, with his uncompromising character, he could not lower them and could not condescend to any hypocritical, half-hearted acceptance.

Notwithstanding the rare scrupulousness of German scholars, their methods were not based on truth.

At the foundation of their science, as indeed would be the case with any other European science, lies the desire however rarely openly avowed, of acquiring a privileged position for themselves and consequent leisure, to be used, no doubt, in the interests of the people. But while they are in process of acquiring this leisure, the people have to bear deep and unmeasured suffering, and the result, genuine intercourse, becomes impossible. The people, exasperated, or at the best, suffering in silence, keep aloof from those benefactors who, without understanding them, offend them with their condescension, and the best these latter can do is to patch up by some palliatives the cruel physical and moral wounds they have caused to the people.

What new impulse Tolstoy gave to the science of education we shall try to explain in one of the following chapters.