Leo Tolstoy: His Life and Work/Chapter 6

Youth
Tolstoy and his brothers had spent five years at Kazan. In the summer the whole family, accompanied by Pelageya Ilyinishna, used to move to Yasnaya Polyana, and every autumn they returned to Kazan. Tolstoy spent the greater part of his youth in Yushkov's home. The brothers Tolstoy moved there in 1841. The elder brother, Nikolay, who left Moscow University for the one in Kazan, had in 1841-42 been already for the second year in the second division of the same faculty of philosophy in which he graduated in 1844. The next two brothers, Sergey and Dmitriy, had chosen the same division of the faculty of philosophy which now is the same thing as the faculty of mathematics. Both matriculated in 1843, and graduated in the spring of 1847. Tolstoy had chosen the faculty of Oriental languages, probably having the diplomatic service in view. To enter this faulty he worked very hard during the years 1842-44, for the entrance examinations were not easy, as one had to know the Arabic and Turko-Tartar languages, which at that time were taught in the Kazan gymnasium. The difficulties were successfully overcome by Tolstoy. In the archives of the Kazan University are kept all the documents relating to Tolstoy's entrance and stay in that university as well as his departure from it. All these papers are carefully collected and printed in the Reminiscences of Zagoskin. We will present here only the more interesting. The petition of Tolstoy at entering the university.

A petition to His Excellency the Rector of the Imperial Kazan University, the Councillor of State, and Cavalier Nikolay Ivanovich Lobachevskiy.'

"Desiring to enter as a student of the Oriental Section (Turko-Arab category) of Kazan University, I beg your Excellency to allow me to appear before the Board of Examination. My papers: the certificate of birth from the Tula Theological Consistory under N 252, and the certificate of my noble origin from the Tula noblemen's Board of Deputies under N 267, I have the honor to present herewith.--Count Lev Tolstoy." In reply to this petition he was allowed to come up for the examinations, which, however, did not come off quite satisfactorily, as appears from the following statement of his marks. Here are the marks received by Tolstoy at his preliminary examinations for the university.

Religion. . . . . . . . . . . 4

History, general and Russian. 1

Statistics and geography. . . 1

Mathematics. . . . . . . . . 4

Russian literature. . . . . . 4

Logic. . . . . . . . . . . . 4

Latin. . . . . . . . . . . . 2

French. . . . . . . . . . . . 5

German. . . . . . . . . . . . 5

Arabic. . . . . . . . . . . . 5

Turco-Tartar. . . . . . . . . 5

English. . . . . . . . . . . 4

In the minutes of the Board of Examination relating to Tolstoy's entrance at the university it is stated that Count Tolstoy "has been examined upon the section of Oriental literature, but was not admitted into the university." It was added: "His papers to be returned." This happened in the spring of 1844. Tolstoy resolved to appeal for another examination to take place in the autumn in those subjects for which he had received unsatisfactory marks.

Accordingly, in the beginning of August, in the same year, 1844, another petition reached the Rector of the university, written in Tolstoy's own hand.

Petition to His Excellency the Rector of the Imperial University of Kazan, Professor N.I. Lobachevskiy, from Count L.N. Tolstoy.

"In the month of May of the present year, together with the pupils of the first and second Kazan gymnasiums, I underwent an examination for the purpose of becoming a student of the kazan University in the department of Arabo-Turkish languages. But at this examination I failed to show sufficient knowledge in history and statistics.  I humbly beg your Excellency to allow me to be now re-examined in these subjects.  Herewith I have the honor to present the following documents: (1) My birth certificate from the Consistory of Tula; (2) A copy of the resolution of the Tula Board of Deputy Noblemen, Aug. 34d, 1844.  To this petition the above-named petitioner, L.N. Tolstoy has put his hand."

On this petition the following remark was made:

"Presented on Aug. 4, 1844. To be allowed to come to the supplementary examinations.  Aug. 4, 1844. - Rector Lobachevskiy.

Precisely when or how Tolstoy passed these additional examinations no one knows. But this time all ended well, for at the bottom of his petition was written the following memorandum: "Tolstoy to be admitted to the university as an extern student in the section of Turco-Arabic literature." Thus Tolstoy entered the university. But he spent there only the hours taken up with lectures. For the rest of his time he moved in the social circle of his aunt, Mrs. Yushkova, in whose house he lived. What were these surroundings, and how were they likely to influence a youth? In Zagoskin's reminiscences of Tolstoy's life as a student it is stated that the surroundings in which he moved in the kazan society were demoralizing, and that Tolstoy must have instinctively felt repelled, but he, having seen the manuscript, remarked that this was not the case. "I did not feel any repulsion," he says, "but very much liked to enjoy myself in the Kazan society, at that time very good." Enumerating further on in his article the different unfavorable circumstances in Tolstoy's life, Zagoskin is amazed at the moral power shown by him in overcoming all these temptations. On this Tolstoy himself made the following remark: "On the contrary, I am very thankful to fate for having passed my first youth in an environment wherein a young man could be young without touching upon problems beyond his grasp, and for living, although an idle and luxurious life, yet not an evil one." The winder season of 1844-45, when Tolstoy began as a "young man" to appear in society, was still more gay than previous seasons. Balls, now at the house of the governor of the province, not given by the chief of the nobility, now at the Rodinovsky Institute for the young ladies of nobility (balls which were particularly favored by the matron of the Institution, Mme. E.D. Zagoskin), private dancing soirees, masquerades in the Hall of the Nobles, private theatricals, tableaux-vivants, concerts--all these followed one another in an endless chain. As a titled young man of good birth, with good local connections, the grandson of the ex-governor of Kazan, and an eligible match, Tolstoy was welcome everywhere. The old inhabitants of Kazan remember him as being present at all the balls, soirees, and aristocratic parties, a welcome guest everywhere, and always dancing, but, unlike his high-born fellow-students, far from being a ladies' man. He was always distinguished by a strange awkwardness and shyness; he evidently was ill at ease in the part which he had to play and to which he was involuntarily bound by the detestable surroundings of his life in kazan. All this was sure to do harm to his studies, and the first half-yearly examination gave rather a poor result, as is seen by the examination sheet of the archive of the Kazan University, produced by Zagoskin:

Tolstoy, Lev Course: Progress, Application

The Church bibl. history: 3, 2

The history of general literature: (did not appear)

Arabic language: 2, 2

French language: 5, 3 This failure did not change his habits. He continued his gay worldly life, and at Shrovetide, together with his brother Sergey, took part in two private theatrical performances with a charitable aim. The end of all was that Tolstoy did not pass his examinations, and regularly this would have obliged him to follow the same course of study for another year. This is his own account of this unfortunate examination: "The first year Ivanov, Professor of Russian History, prevented me from being passed to the second course, notwithstanding the fact that I had not missed a single lecture and knew Russian history quite well, because he had a quarrel with my family. Besides, the same professor gave me the lowest mark--1--for German, thought I knew the language incomparably better than any student in our division." But Tolstoy did not care to stay another year, and presented a petition for leave to take another faculty, that of Jurisprudence, which was given him. After having entered the faculty of law, Tolstoy gave up studying altogether, and plunged with greater zest into the gaieties and distractions of fashionable Kazan society, which were at this time in full swing. The winter season of 1845-46 opened with a fete on the occasion of a two days' visit of Duke Maximilian of Leichtenberg, and an enthusiastic reception was given in his honor. "Notwithstanding this," Tolstoy remarks, "at the end of this year I began for the first time to study seriously, and even found a certain pleasure in so doing. Among the university subjects the Encyclopedia of Law and Criminal Law were of interest to me; moreover, the German Professor Vogel arranged discussions at the lectures, and I remember that I was interested by one on capital punishment; but besides the university or faculty subjects, Meyer, Professor of Civil law, set me a task, viz., a comparison between Montesquieu's Esprit des Lois and Catherine's Code, and this work greatly absorbed me." The May examinations of 1846 went off well for Tolstoy. His marks were as follows: Logic and psychology, five each; encyclopedia of law, history of Roman law, and Latin, four each; universal and Russian history, theory of rhetoric and German, three each; deportment in each of the three terms, five each. The average mark received was three, and thus Tolstoy passed on to his second year's course. The same year he was punished by the university authorities. He was put under lock and key. This episode has been described by a student, a fellow-sufferer with Tolstoy, Nazaryev, in his reminiscences. His version is far from true, though what he gives as their conversation corresponded to what really happened. With the help of Tolstoy's remarks we hope to reproduce the incident as it occurred. Tolstoy was locked up, not in a lecture hall, according to Nazaryev, but in a punishment cell (prison room), with its arches and iron gates; he and his comrade were both there. Tolstoy carried with him a candle and candlestick secreted in his boot, and they spent a day or two very pleasantly. The coachman, trotter, man-servant, and so on existed in Nazaryev's imagination only. But their conversation as reproduced by him is plausible, and we therefore take it from Nazaryev's article as follows:

"I remember," says Nazaryev, "noticing Lermontov's Demon. Tolstoy made an ironical remark about verses in general, and then turning to the Karamzin's History lying at my side, he attacked history as the dullest subject and an almost useless one. "`History,' he declared curtly, `is nothing but a collection of fables and useless details, sprinkled with a quantity of unnecessary dates and proper names. The death of Igor, the snake that stung Oleg, what are these but fairy tales? And who wants to know that the second marriage of John with the daughter of Temryuk took place on August 21, 1562, and the fourth with Anna Alekseyevna Koltorskaya, in 1572? Yet they expect me to learn all this, and, if I don't know it, I get mark one! And how is history written? All is fitted in according to a certain plan invented by the historian. Ivan the Terrible (about whom Professor Ivanov is at present lecturing), in 1560, from a virtuous and wise man, suddenly changes into a stupid, cruel tyrant. How and why, you need not ask....' This was my companion's strain more or less throughout. I was greatly puzzled by such sharp criticism, the more so as history was my favorite subject. "This time the (to me) irresistible force of Tolstoy's doubts fell upon the university and the teaching of universities generally. `The temple of science' was continually on his lips. While himself remaining quite serious, he made such caricatures of our professors, that in spite of my endeavor to appear uninterested I simply roared with laughter." "`Yet,' concluded Tolstoy, `we both have a right to expect that we shall leave this temple useful men, equipped with knowledge. But what shall we carry from the university? Think a little and answer your conscience.  What shall we take from this temple when we return home to the country, what shall we know how to do, to whom shall we be necessary?'  So he proceeded, addressing the question to me. "In conversation of this kind we spent the whole night. MOrning had hardly dawned when the door opened, and the sergeant entered. He saluted us and explained that we were free and could retire to our respective homes. "Tolstoy pulled his cap over his eyes, wrapped himself in his cloak with beaver collar, slightly nodded to me, once more abused `the temple,' and then disappeared accompanied by his servant and the sergeant. I, too, was in a hurry to be gone.  After leaving my companion, I gave a sigh of relief to be in the open frosty air in the midst of the silent street, just beginning to stir. "My head was heavy and full of doubts and questions brought before me for the first time in my life by this strange and utterly incomprehensible companion in my captivity."

The beginning of the academic year 1846-47 brought certain changes in the life of the brothers Sergey, Dmitriy, and Lev Tolstoy. They left the house of their aunt, Pelageya Ilyinishna Yushkova, and settled in private rooms in the house belonging then to Petondi, and now occupied by Lozhkin's Public charitable Home. There they had five rooms on the upper floor of the brick lodge, which still remains in the court-yard of this house and is used as one of the wards of the home. In January 1847, Tolstoy once more appeared on the day of the half-yearly examinations, but did not enter for all of them, and he evidently treated the whole affair as a hollow formality. Probably the plan of leaving the university was already forming in his mind. Indeed, soon after the Easter holidays, he presented a petition to be allowed to leave the university. It was as follows:

Petition to His Excellency the Rector of the Imperial Kazan University, the State Councillor, and Cavalier Ivan Mikhaylovich Simonov, from an extern undergraduate in the second year of the faculty of law, Count Lev Nikolayevich Tolstoy.

"Prevented from continuing my studies in the university on account of ill-health and family affairs, I humbly beg your Excellency to issue an order authorizing the omission of my name from the roll of university students and the return of all my documents." To this petition is added in his own handwriting the signature of the student Count Lev Tolstoy, April 12, 1847. After this comes the resolution of the administration of the university authorizing "Tolstoy's name to be struck off the roll of students, and a memorandum to be made of the time for which he remained in the university." In the archives of the university there still exists the duplicate of the testimonial given to Count L.N. Tolstoy. This testimonial is very curious in its way, for it has been so edited as to smooth down Tolstoy's university failures, and to say nothing of the causes which hindered his moving up into his second year's course while he was a student in the division of Oriental languages. It runs as follows: "The bearer of this, Count Lev, the son of Nikolay Tolstoy, having received a private education and passed an examination in all the subjects contained in the gymnasium curriculum, was admitted as a student at the Kazan University in the Division of Turko-Arab literature for the first year, but what progress he made during this year is not known, as he did not present himself for the examinations at the end of the year, and had therefore to remain in the same class. By the permission of the Director of the Educational Department of Kazan, dated September 13, 1845, he was transferred under N 3919 from the Division of Turko-Arab literature to the faculty of Law, where he made progress which, in logic and psychology, was excellent; in comparative jurisprudence, history of Roman law, and Latin - good; in universal and Russian history, theory of rhetoric and German - tolerably good; he was then moved to the second year's course, but what progress he made while there is not known, as the yearly examinations have not yet taken place. Tolstoy's conduct while at the university was excellent. Now in compliance with his petition, presented on the 12th instant of April, he is on the ground of ill-health and family affairs discharged from the university. Not having taken a degree, he cannot enjoy the privileges reserved to graduates, but in virtue of paragraph 590, Volume III of the Civil Code (edition 1842), on entering civil service, he will be entitled to the same privileges as to promotion as those who have passed through the gymnasium course of instruction, and will have the same rank as the civil service officials of the second class. In witness hereof this testimonial is given to Count Lev Tolstoy by the administration of the University of kazan, duly signed and sealed with the official seal, in accordance with the Imperial Charter granted to Kazan University, on ordinary paper." "Tolstoy," writes Zagoskin in his reminiscences, "was in a great hurry to leave Kazan, and did not even wait for the final university examinations which his brothers had to pass. The day came when he was to set out for Moscow, which lay on his way to Yasnaya Polyana. In the rooms of the Counts Tolstoy in the wing of Petondi's house, a small party of students gathered to celebrate his departure on a journey which was not free from difficulty in those days of imperfect communications over great distances. One of those present who related to me the incident is still living in Kazan. In accordance with the custom, all drank the traveler health, and wished him every good fortune. They accompanied him to the ferry across the river Kazanka, which had then overflowed its banks, and for the last time the friends exchanged the farewell kisses."

Few traces are now left of Tolstoy's stay at Kazan. Prince D. D. Obolensky, who recently paid a visit to the university, told me that in the lecture hall he saw the signature "Count L. N. Tolstoy," undoubtedly cut by himself on the iron bar of his seat during his attendance at the lectures. This, it seems, is the only record of Tolstoy's presence in the Kazan University. Tolstoy's German biographer, Loewenfeld, while at Yasnaya Polyana, asked him why, considering his inherent thirst for knowledge, he left the university prematurely. The Count's answer was: "This was perhaps the chief reason why I left it.  I was little interested in what our Professors read at Kazan.  I first worked a year at Oriental languages, but with little success, though I threw myself enthusiastically into what I did.  I read innumerable books, but all in one and the same direction.  When any subject interested me, I did not deviate from it either to the right or the left, and I endeavored to become acquainted with everything which might throw a light on this particular subject.  So it was with me at Kazan." "There were two reasons for my leaving the university," says Tolstoy; "first that my brother had finished his course and was leaving; and secondly, however strange it may be to say so, that the work on the Nakaz and the Esprit de Lois (I have still got it) opened out to me a new sphere of independent mental work, whereas the university with its demands far from aiding such work, only hindered it."

Calling to mind his brother Dmitriy, Tolstoy gives interesting details of student life in Kazan, so we insert these reminiscences here. "Mitenka was a year older than I. Big, black, grave eyes.  I hardly remember him as a boy. I only know by hearsay that as a child he was very capricious; it was said that such moods used to seize him that he was angry and cried at his nurse's not looking at him, and next got into a rage and screamed because she was looking at him.  I know by what I have been told that my mother had much trouble with him.  He was nearest to me by age, and I played with him oftenest, but I did not love him as much as I loved Seryozha, nor as I loved and respected Nikolenka.  He and I lived together amicably.  I do not recollect that we quarreled.  Probably we did, and may even have fought; but, as it happens with children, these fights did not leave the slightest trace, and I loved him with a simple instinctive love, and therefore did not remark it and do not remember it.  I think, nay, I actually know, that according to my experience, especially in childhood, love for human beings is a natural state of the soul, or rather a natural attitude toward all men, and, as it is such, one does not remark it. This changes only when one dislikes, when one does not love but is afraid of something, as I was afraid of beggars, and was afraid of one of the Volkonskys who used to pinch me, and, I think, of no one else - and when one loves some one exceptionally, as I loved my aunt Tatyana, my brother Seryozha, Nikolenka, Vasiliy, my nurse Issayevna, and Pashenka. As a child I remember nothing special about Mitenka, except his childish merriment. His peculiarities became manifest, and are memorable to me from the time of our life at Kazan, whither we removed in the year '40 when he was thirteen. Till then, in Moscow, I remember that he did not fall in love as did Seryozha and I, did not particularly like dancing, nor military pageants, about which I will speak later, but studied well and strenuously. I remember that a student teacher named Poplonsky, who used to give us lessons, defined the attitude of us three brothers to our studies thus: Sergey both wishes and can, Dmitriy wishes but cannot (this was not true), and Lev neither wishes nor can. I think this was perfectly true. "So that my real memories concerning Mitenka begin with Kazan. At Kazan I, who had always imitated Seryozha, began to grow depraved (I will relate this later). Not only at Kazan, but even earlier, I used to take pains about my appearance.  I tried to be elegant, comme il faut.  There was no trace of anything of the kind in Mitenka.  I think he never suffered from the usual vices of youth; he was always serious, thoughtful, pure, resolute, though hot-tempered, and whatever he did he did to the best of his ability.  It happened once that he swallowed a bit of chain; but as far as I can remember, he was not particularly troubled about the consequences.  But as for myself, I remember what terrors I underwent when I swallowed the stone of a French plum which my aunt had given me, and how solemnly, as if in the face of death, I announced the mishap to her.  I also remember how, as children, we used to toboggan down a steep hill by the farm yard, and how some traveler, in order to drive his troika along the road, drove it up this hill. I think Seryozha, with a village boy, had launched down the hill, and being unable to stop his sleigh, got under the horses. The boy climbed out without injury. The troika ascended the hill. We were all absorbed in the event, thinking how they got out from under the horses, how the center horse got frightened, etc., whereas Mitenka (a boy of nine) went up to the traveler and began to upbraid him. I remember how it astonished and displeased me when he said that, in order to keep people from driving where there was no road, it would be necessary to send them to the stables, which, in the language of the time, implied a flogging. "At Kazan his peculiarities began; he studied well and regularly, and wrote verses with great facility. I remember how admirably he translated Schiller's Der Jungling aus Lorche, but he did not devote himself to this occupation.  I remember that once he merrily romped, and how the girls were delighted with it, and how I was envious, and reflected that this was because he was always so serious.  And I desired to imitate him in this.  Our aunt and godmother had the silly idea of making each of us the gift of a boy, who was eventually to become our devoted servant.  To Mitenka was given Vanyusha (he is still living).  Mitenka often treated him badly, and I think even beat him.  I say I think, because I do not remember it, but only remember his repentance for something done to Vanyusha, and his humble prayers for forgiveness. "Thus he grew up, associating little with others, always, except in moments of anger, quiet and serious, with thoughtful, grave, large hazel eyes. He was tall, rather thin, and not very strong, with long big hands and round shoulders. His peculiarities began at the time of entering the university. He was a year younger than Sergey, but they entered the university together, in the mathematical faculty, solely because the elder brother was a mathematician. I do not know how or by what he was so early attracted toward a religious life, but it began with the very first year of his university life. His religious aspirations naturally directed him to Church life, and he devoted himself to it as thoroughly as he did to everything. He began to fast, he attended all the Church services, and became especially strict in his conduct. "In Mitenka there must have existed that valuable characteristic which I believe my mother to have had, and which I knew in Nikolenka, and of which I was altogether devoid - the characteristic of complete indifference to other people's opinion about oneself. Until quite lately I have always been unable to divest myself of concern about people's opinion, but Mitenka was quite free from this.  I never remember on his fact that restrained smile which involuntarily appears when one is praised. I always remember his serious, quiet, sad, sometimes severe, large, almond-shaped hazel eyes.  Only from the kazan days did we begin to pay particular attention to him, and that merely because, while Seryozha and I attached great importance to what was comme il faut - to the external - he was careless and  untidy, and for this we condemned him.  He did not dance, and did not wish to learn dancing.  As a student he did not go into society; he wore a student's suit with a tight tie, and from his very youth he had the habit of jerking his head as if freeing himself from this tie. His peculiarity first revealed itself in our first preparation for communion. He made his devotions, not in the fashionable university church, but in the church of the prison. We lived in a house belonging to a Mr. Gortalov opposite the jail. The prison chaplain of that time was a specially pious and devout man, who, contrary to the ordinary usage of priests, went through the whole of the appointed readings in the Gospels for Passion Week, as was officially required, which made the services last a very long time. Mitenka used to stand them out, and made the priest's acquaintance. The jail church was so arranged that the public was separated from the place where the convicts stood only by a glass partition with a door. Once one of the convicts wished to pass something to one of the vergers - either a candle, or money to buy one; no one in the church cared to undertake the commission, but Mitenka, with a serious expression on his face, immediately took it and passed it on. It turned out that it was forbidden, and he was reprimanded, but, as he thought it was right, he did it again. "We others, especially Seryozha, kept up acquaintance with our aristocratic comrades and other young men. Mitenka, on the contrary, out of all our comrades, selected a piteous-looking, poor, shabbily dressed student, Poluboyarinov (whom a humorous comrade of ours used to call  Polubezobedov,  [] and we contemptible lads thought this amusing, and laughed at Mitenka). he consorted only with Poluboyarinov, and with him prepared for his examinations. "We were living in the upper floor, which was divided in two by an inner balcony over the ball-room. In the nearest half on this side of the balcony lived Mitenka, in the room on the other Seryozha and myself. We two were fond of small knick-knacks, we decorated our rooms as grown-up people do, and trifling articles used to be given us for this purpose. Mitenka kept no ornaments at all. The only thing he had taken from our father's things was a collection of minerals: he classified them, ticketed them, and placed them in a case under glass. As we brothers, and even aunt, looked down upon Mitenka with a certain contempt for his low tastes and associations, the same attitude was assumed by our light-minded comrades. One of the latter, a very unintelligent man, an engineer, one E., a friend of ours - not so much by our choice as because he stuck to us - once, on passing through Mitenka's room, took notice of these minerals, and questioned Mitenka about them. E. was not sympathetic, not natural, and Mitenka answered unwillingly. E. moved the box and jerked the minerals. Mitenka said, `Leave them alone.' E. paid no attention, but made some joke and called him Noah. Mitenka flew in a rage, and with his big hands hit E. in the face. E. ran away and Mitenka after him. As they rushed into our quarters we locked the doors, but Mitenka declared that he would thrash him when he went back. Seryozha and, I think, Shuvalov went to persuade Mitenka to let E. pass, but he took a broom and declared that he would certainly beat him. I don't know what might have happened had E. passed through his room, but E. himself requested us to get him out some other way, and we led him out, almost crawling, by some way through the dusty garret. "Such was Mitenka in his moments of anger. But this is what he was when nothing put him out. To our family had attached herself (she was taken in from pity) a most strange and piteous being, Lyubov Sergeyevna, a girl; I don't know what surname was given her. She was the fruit of an incestuous connection.  How she came into our house I do not know.  I have been told that she was pitied and caressed, and that they wished to find her a situation, or even to have her married to Feodor Ivanovich, but nothing of this succeeded.  Then she was taken by my aunt to Kazan, and lived with her, so that I came to know her at Kazan.  She was a pitiful, meek, oppressed being.  She had a little room of her own, and a girl attended her.  When I made her acquaintance she was not only pitiful but repulsive to look at.  I don't know what her disease was, but her face was all swollen, as faces are when they have been stung by bees. Her eyes appeared in two narrow slits, between swollen chining cushions without brows; similarly swollen and gleaming were her cheeks, nose, lips, and mouth, and she spoke with difficulty, probably having the same swelling within her mouth. In summer flies settled on her face without her feeling it, and it was especially unpleasant to see this. Her hair was still black but scanty, barely concealing the scalp. Vasiliy Yushkov, my aunt's husband, a sarcastic man, did not conceal his repugnance for her. She always had a bad smell about her, and in her room, where neither window nor ventilator was ever open, the atmosphere was oppressive. Well, it was this Lyubov Sergeyevna who became Mitenka's friend. He used to go to her room, listen to her, talk to her, read to her. And strange to say, we were morally so dense that we only laughed at this, whereas Mitenka was morally so high, so independent of concern about people's opinion, that he never either by word or by hint showed that he regarded what he was doing as something good. He simply did it. "This was not a passing impulse, but continued the whole time we lived at Kazan. "How clear it is to me that Mitenka's death did not destroy him, that he existed before I came to know him, before he was born, and that, having died, he still is!"

Let us take a glance at Tolstoy's inner life at this period, so far as we have the materials. The critical age of man - youth - leads him into the abyss of passion. To an ordinary man it is a period in life when he is carried away by various sensations and passions, when he searches for an ideal; a period of dreams, expectations, and, generally, of unfulfilled hopes. One can imagine the mental excitement through which such a many-sided and powerful nature had to pass, as Tolstoy's was and remains. His soul was tossed to and fro on divers blasts. The wings of vision lifted him to unattainable heights, from which he plunged downward, carried away by the lower impulses of a powerful animal nature. References are to be found to the tumultuous inner life of this youthful period in two works of Tolstoy's - Youth and My Confession. In the first we meet with autobiographical traits in Nikolenka Irtenev's reflections. The thoughts taken from Youth are chiefly of an ideal character, and expressed in a beautiful poetic form. here we bring forward only the more important of them. "I have said that my friendship with Dmitriy had opened up to me a new view of life, its aims and relations. The essence of this view consisted in the conviction that it was man's destiny to strive after moral perfection, and that this perfection was easy, possible, and eternal.... "But a time came when these ideas burst upon my reason with such a fresh power of moral discovery that I became frightened at the thought of how much time I had spent in vain, and I wished immediately, that very second, to apply all those ideas to life, with the firm intention of never being false to them. "This time I regard as the beginning of my youth. "I was then finishing my sixteenth year. Teachers still came to the house, St. Jerome looked after my studies, and I was preparing myself with an effort, and against my will, for the university.

"At that date, which I regard as the extreme limit of boyhood and beginning of youth, the basis of my dreams consisted of four sentiments. The first was the love for her, an imaginary woman, of whom I dreamed ever in the same way, and whom I expected to meet somewhere at any minute....my second sentiment was the love of love.  I wanted everybody to know and love me.  I wanted to tell my name, and have every one struck by the information, and surround me and thank me for something.  The third sentiment was a hope for some unusual vain happiness - such a strong and firm hope that it passed into insanity....My fourth and chief sentiment was my self-disgust and repentance, but a repentance which was so closely welded with the hope of happiness, that there was nothing sad in it....I even found pleasure in my disgust with the past, and tried to see it blacker than it was.  The blacker the circle of my memories of the past, the brighter and clearer stood out from it the bright and clear point of the present, and streamed the rainbow colors of the future. This voice of repentance and passionate desire for perfection was the main new sensation of my soul at that epoch of my development, and it was this which laid a new foundation for my views of myself, of people, and of the whole world. "Beneficent, consoling voice, which since then has so often been heard suddenly and boldly against all lies, in those sad moments when the soul in silence submitted to the power of deceit and debauchery in life, which has angrily accused the past, has indicated the bright point of the present, causing one to love it, and has promised happiness and well-being in the future - beneficent, consoling voice! will you ever cease to be heard?"

Fortunately for Tolstoy himself and for all of us, we know that that voice was never for a moment silent, and that this beneficent voice still calls to him and to us, guiding us toward a bright and infinite ideal. Sometimes these dreams vividly expressed the principles of that idealistic naturalism which became the base of the greater part of Tolstoy's works. "And the moon rose higher and higher, and stood brighter and brighter in the heavens, the rich sheen of the pond, evenly growing, like sound, became more and more distinct, the shadows became blacker and blacker, and the light ever more transparent; and as I looked at it all and listened, something told me that she, with her bared arms and passionate embraces, was very far from bearing all the happiness in the world, that the love for her was very far from being all its bliss; and the more I looked at the full moon up on high, the higher did true beauty and goodness appear to me, and the purer and nearer to Him, the source of all that is beautiful and good, and tears of an unsatisfied but stirring joy stood in my eyes. "And I was all alone, and it seemed to me that mysterious, majestic nature, the attractive bright disc of the moon, which had for some reason stopped in one high undefined spot in the pale blue sky, and yet stood everywhere and, as it were, filled all the immeasurable space - and myself, insignificant worm, defiled already by all petty, wretched human passions, but with all the immeasurable might power of love - it seemed to me in those minutes that Nature and the moon and I were one and the same."

It is interesting to note the literary works which influenced Tolstoy and helped the development of his views during his youth, that is to say, from about fourteen to twenty-one years.

Titles of the books: Degree of their influence.

The New Testament (Gospel of St. Matthew); The Sermon on the Mount: Powerful.

Sterne, Sentimental Journey: Very great.

Rousseau, Confession: Powerful.

Rousseau, Emile: Powerful.

Rousseau, Nouvelle Heloise: Very great.

Pushkin, Eugene Onegin: Very great.

Schiller, Die Rauber: Very great.

Gogol, The Overcoat; Iv. Iv. and Iv. Nik.; Nevsky Prospect; Vy; Dead Souls: Great.

Turgenev, Memoirs of a Sportsman: Very great.

Druzhinin, Polinka Sax: Very great.

Grigorovich, Anton Goremika: Very great.

Dickens, David Copperfield: Powerful.

Lermontov, Hero of Our Times; Taman: Very great.

Prescott, The Conquest of Mexico: Great.

At the same time Tolstoy had to put up with the worry of the conventionalities to which his life, as one of the gentry, was subjected; to one of which, the so-called comme il faut, he dedicates a whole chapter in Youth. We will quote from it only the more essential passages. "I feel myself constrained to devote a whole chapter to a conception that was one of the most disastrous and false ideas with which I was inoculated by education and society. "My chief and favorite classification at the time of which I am writing was into people comme il faut and comme il ne faut pas. The second division was subdivided into people more particularly not comme il faut, and into the common people. I respected people comme il faut, and considered them worthy of being on an equality with me; I pretended a contempt for the second, but in reality hated them, cherishing against them a feeling of being personally offended; the third for me did not exist - I disregarded them entirely. My comme il faut consisted, first and foremost, in the use of excellent French, more especially in pronunciation. a man who pronounced French badly immediately provoked a feeling of hatred in me. `Why do you attempt to speak as we do, if you do not know how?' I asked him mentally, with a venomous smile. The second condition for comme il faut consisted in long, manicured and clean nails. The third was the ability to courtesy, dance, and converse. The fourth - and this was very important - was an indifference to everything, and a constant expression of a certain elegant, supercilious ennui....

"It is terrible to think how much invaluable time of my seventeenth year I wasted on the acquisition of this temper of mind.... "But it was not the loss of the golden time, which was employed on the assiduous task of preserving all the difficult conditions of the comme il faut, to the exclusion of every serious application, nor the hatred and contempt for nine-tenths of the human race, nor the absence of any interest in all the beauty that existed outside that circle of comme il faut, that was the greatest evil which this conception caused me. The greatest evil consisted in the conviction that comme il faut was an independent position in society, that a man need not have to try to be an official, or a carriage-maker, or a soldier, or a learned man, if he was comme il faut; that, having reached that position, he had already fulfilled his purpose, and even stood higher than most people. "At a certain period of his youth, every man, after many blunders and transports, generally faces the necessity of taking an active part in social life, chooses some department of labor, and devotes himself to it; but this seldom happens with the man who is comme il faut. I know many, very many, old, proud, self-confident people, sharp in their judgments, who to the question which may be asked them in the next world, `Who are you?  and what have you been doing there?' would not be able to answer otherwise that `Je fus un homme tres comme il faut.' "This fate awaited me."

As we know from the conversation of Tolstoy with his German biographer, Loewenfeld, along with his university studies (on the whole uninteresting to him) he showed capacity for independent intellectual research. This was called forth by the university inviting an essay comparing the Esprit de Lois of Montesquieu and the Instruction of the Empress Catherine II. The diaries of Tolstoy relating to this period are full of thoughts, notes, and commentaries concerning this essay. A swarm of ideas crowded his brain, as if the hitherto sleeping intellect suddenly awoke and began to work actively in all directions. In March, 1847, Tolstoy was laid up in the Kazan hospital. During his illness, being alone in the hospital, he found time to think of the significance of Reason. Society is but part of the world. Reason must be in harmony with the world, with the whole, so by studying its laws one may become independent of the past, of the world. We see from this remark that this youth of eighteen years had already in him the germ of the future idea of anarchy. Having observed in himself signs of a passion for knowledge, Tolstoy checks himself at once, and fearing to go too far in theory, he tries to solve the questions of science applied to practice, but chiefly those of the moral ideal and moral conduct. Among others, he made the following entry in his diary (March 1847): "I have greatly changed, but still have not attained that degree of perfection (in my occupations) which I would like to attain. I do not fulfill that which I set myself to do and what I do fulfill I do not fulfill well, I do not exercise my memory.  For this purpose I here put down some rules, which, as it seems to me, would greatly help if I followed them. "(1) To fulfill despite everything that which I set myself. "(2) To fulfill well what I do fulfill. "(3) Never to refer to a book for what I have forgotten, but to endeavor to recall it to mind myself. "(4) Continually to compel my mind to work with the utmost power it is capable of. "(5) To read and think always aloud. "(6) Not to be ashamed of telling those who interrupt me that they hinder me; at first let them only feel it, hit if they do not understand (that they are hindering me), then apologize and tell them so."

His university essay leads him to the conclusion that there are two principles in Catherine's Instruction: that of the revolutionary ideas of modern Europe and that of Catherine's despotism and vanity, the latter principle being predominant. The republican ideas are borrowed by her from Montesquieu. In the end Tolstoy comes to the conclusion that the Instruction brought with it more glory to Catherine than advantage to Russia. Having resolved to leave the university and settle in the country, Tolstoy determined that he would study Latin, the English language, and Roman law, the subjects which, in his own opinion, he knew least about. But as the time of departure drew nearer, the plans and dreams of his new life widened, and finally he wrote this in his diary of April 17, 1847: "A change must take place in my way of life, but it is necessary that this change should be the result of the soul, and not of external circumstances." "The object of life is the conscious aspiration toward the many-sided development of all that exists. "The object of life in the country during two years: "(1) To study the whole course of law necessary for the final university examination. (2) To study practical medicine and a part of the theory. (3) To study these languages:  French, Russian, German, English, Italian, and Latin.  (4) To study agriculture, both theoretically and practically.  (5) To study history, geography, and statistics.  (6) To study mathematics, gymnasium course.  (7) To write my university essay.  (8) To attain the highest possible perfection in music and painting.  (9) To write down the rules of conduct.  (10) To acquire some knowledge of the natural sciences.  And (11) to compose essays on all the subjects I shall study."

All the subsequent life of Tolstoy in the country is full of such dreams, good beginnings, and serious and sincere struggles with himself after perfection. With incomparable sincerity he notes down any digression, every lapse from the rule he intended to follow, and again gathers strength for a new battle. His relation with women began to disturb him even then, and this is the interesting advice he gave himself: "Look upon the society of women as upon a necessary unpleasantness of social life, and as much as possible keep away from them. "Indeed, from whom do we get sensuality, effeminacy, frivolity in everything, and many other vices, if not from women? Who is to blame that we lose out innate qualities of boldness, resolution, reasonableness, justice, and others, if not women? Women are more receptive than men, therefore in virtuous ages women were better than we, but in the present depraved and vicious age they are worse than we."

In all this we already see hints of his later views of life. His first philosophical essays also belong to this period, and it was at this time, while reading Rousseau, that he wrote commentaries to his Discourses. We also meet his original philosophic article, written in 1846-47, when he was eighteen years old. The title of the article is, "On the Aim of Philosophy." Philosophy is thus defined: "Man aspires - i.e., man is active. To what is his activity directed, how is his activity to be set free?  In this consists philosophy in its true sense.  In other words, philosophy is the science of life." Besides these, he wrote essays on various subjects, such as: "On Reasoning Concerning Future Life," "Definition of Time, Space, and Number," "Methods," "Division of Philosophy," etc. The following incident, noted down by the Countess Tolstoy, occurred about this time: "During his student days Tolstoy was struck by the idea of symmetry, and wrote a philosophical article on the subject in an argumentative form. The article was lying on the table in his room when Shuvalov, a friend of the brothers Tolstoy, came in with bottles in all his pockets, and was going to drink, when he caught sight of the article and read it.  He was interested in it, and asked Tolstoy what he had copied it from.  Tolstoy replied, with some hesitation, that he had written it himself.  Shuvalov laughed and said that was not true, it could not be, the article was too deep and clever for such a youth.  Nothing would convince him of it, and he went away with his conviction unchanged."

This little incident shows how much Tolstoy's intellectual standard already differed from that of those about him, and how superior to them he was. His Confession reveals to us his inner world of that period from another point of view - the religious one. "I remember, also, that when my elder brother, Dmitriy, then at the university, gave himself up to a passionate faith, with the impulsiveness natural to his character, began to attend the Church services regularly, to fast, and to lead a pure and moral life, we all of us, as well as some older than ourselves, never ceased to hold him up to ridicule, and for some incomprehensible reason gave him the nickname of Noah. I remember that Mussin-Pushkin, then curator of the University of Kazan, having invited us to a ball, tried to persuade my brother, who had refused the invitation, by the jeering argument that even David danced before the ark. "I sympathized then with these jokes of my elders, and drew from them this conclusion - that I was bound to learn my catechism, and go to church, but that it was not necessary to think of my religious duties more seriously. I also remember that I read Voltaire when I was very young, and that his tone of mockery amused without disgusting me. The gradual estrangement from all belief went on in me, as it does, and always has done, in those of the same social position and culture as myself. This falling off, as it seems to me, for the most part takes place as follows: People live as others do, and their lives are guided, not by the principles of the faith which is taught them, but by their very opposite; belief has no influence on life, nor on the relations between men - it is relegated to some other sphere, where life is not; if the two ever come into contact at all, belief is only one of the outward phenomena, and not one of the constituent parts of life. "By a man's life, by his acts, it was then, as it is now, impossible to know whether he was a believer or not. If there be a difference between one who openly professes the doctrines of the Orthodox Church and one who denies them, the difference is not to the advantage of the former.  An open profession of the orthodox doctrines is mostly found among persons of dull intellects, of stern character, who are much impressed with their own importance. Intelligence, honesty, frankness, a good heart, and moral conduct are oftener met with among those who are disbelievers.  A schoolboy of the people is taught his catechism and sent to church; from the grown man is required a certificate of his having taken the Holy Communion.  But a man belonging to our class neither goes to school nor is bound by the regulations affecting those in the public service, and may now live through long years - still more was this the case formerly - without being once reminded of the fact that he lives among Christians, and calls himself a member of the Orthodox Church. "Thus it happens that now, as formerly, the influence of early religious teaching, accepted merely on trust and upheld by authority, gradually fades away under the knowledge and practical experience of later life, which is opposed to all its principles, and a man often believes for years that his early faith is still intact, while all the time not a particle of it remains in him. "The belief instilled in childhood gradually disappeared in me, as in so many others, but with this difference, that I was conscious of my own disbelief. At fifteen years of age I had begun to read philosophical works. From the age of sixteen I ceased to pray, and ceased also to attend the services of the Church with conviction, or to fast. I no longer accepted the faith of my childhood, but I had a vague belief in something, though I did not think I could exactly explain what. I believed in a God, or rather I did not deny the existence of God, but anything relating to the nature of the Deity I could not have described; I denied neither Christ nor His teaching, but wherein that teaching consisted I could not have said. "Now, when I think over that time, I see clearly that all the faith I had, the only belief which, apart from mere animal instinct, swayed my life, was a belief in a possibility of perfection, though what it was in itself, or what would be its results, I was unable to say. I endeavored to reach perfection in intellectual attainments; my studies were extended in every direction of which my life afforded me a chance; I strove to strengthen my will, forming for myself rules which I forced myself to follow; I did my best to develop my physical powers by every exercise calculated to give strength and agility, and, by way of accustoming myself to patient endurance, subjected myself to many voluntary hardships and trials of privations.  All this I looked upon as necessary to obtain the perfection at which I aimed.  At first, of course, moral perfection seemed to me the main end, but I soon found myself contemplating instead of it an ideal of conventional perfectibility; in other words, I wished to be better, not in my own eyes, nor in those of God, but in the sight of other men. This feeling again soon led to another - the desire to have more power than others, to secure for myself a greater share of fame, of social distinction, and of wealth."

Further on begins the terrible confession by which Tolstoy, in denouncing his own sins, denounces our also at the same time, for most of us have been through the same depths of vice, though we may not have plunged into so gigantic an abyss, or the consciousness of our evil lives may not have been so real. "At some future time I may relate the story of my life, and dwell in detail on the pathetic and instructive incidents of my youth. Many others must have passed through the same experiences. I honestly desired to make myself a good and virtuous man; but I was young, I had passions, and I stood alone, altogether alone, in my search after virtue.  Every time I tried to express the longings of my heart for a truly virtuous life, I was met with contempt and derisive laughter; but directly I gave way to the lowest of my passions, I was praised and encouraged.  I found ambition, love of power, love of gain, lechery, pride, anger, vengeance, held in high esteem.  I gave way to these passions, and becoming like my elders, felt that the place which I filled in the world satisfied those around me.  My kindhearted aunt, a really good woman, used to say to me, that there was one thing above all others which she wished for me - an intrigue with a married woman: `Rien ne forme un jeune homme, comme une liaison avec une femme comme il faut.' Another of her wishes for my happiness was, that I should become an adjutant, and, if possible, to the Emperor. The greatest happiness of all for me she thought would be that I should find a wealthy bride who would bring me as her dowry an enormous number of serfs. "I cannot now recall those years without a painful feeling of horror and loathing. "I put men to death in war, I fought duels to slay others. I lost at cards, wasted the substance wrung from the sweat of peasants, punished the latter cruelly, rioted with loose women, and deceived men. Lying, robbery, adultery of all kinds, drunkenness, violence, and murder, all were committed by me, not one crime omitted, and yet I was not the less considered by my equals to be a comparatively moral man. Such was my life for ten years. "During that time I began to write, out of vanity, love of gain, and pride. I followed as a writer the same path which I had chosen as a man.  In order to obtain the fame and the money for which I wrote, I was obliged to hide what was good and bow down before what was evil.  How often while writing have I cudgelled my brains to conceal under the mask of indifference or pleasantry those yearnings for something better which formed the real problem of my life!  I succeeded in my object, and was praised.  At twenty-six years of age, on the close of the war, I came to St. Petersburg and made the acquaintance of the authors of the day. "I met with a hearty reception and much flattery."

This tumultuous period of ten years' duration began in this country. To this time belong more or less Tolstoy's attempts to arrange the affairs of his estates on new principles, and especially his endeavors to establish reasonable and friendly relations with the peasants. These attempts fell flat, and their failure is vividly pictured in his tale, A Russian Proprietor. This tale gives us so much autobiographical material, in the psychological sense, that we consider it as a chapter of his biography, though the incidents related do not agree with the facts of his life. From it we quote the letter of "Prince Nekhludov" to his aunt: "Dear Aunty: I have made a resolution on which the fate of my whole life must depend.  I will leave the university in order to devote myself to country life, because I feel that I was born for it.  For God's sake, dear aunty, do not laugh at me!  You will say that I am young; and, indeed, I may still be a child, but this does not prevent me from feeling what my calling is, and from wishing to do good, and loving it. "As I have written you before, I found affairs in indescribable disorder. In trying to straighten them out, and to understand them, I discovered that the main evil lay in the truly pitiable, poverty-stricken condition of the peasants, and that the evil was such that it could be mended by labor and patience alone. If you could only see two of my peasants, David and Ivan, and the lives which they lead with their families, I am sure that the mere sight of these unfortunates would convince you more than all I might say to explain my intention to you. "Is it not my sacred and direct duty to care for the welfare of these seven hundred men, for whom I shall be held responsible before God? Is it not a sin to abandon them to the caprice of rude elders and managers for their plans of enjoyment and ambition?  And why should I look in another sphere for opportunities of being useful and doing good when such a noble, brilliant, and immediate duty is open to me? "I feel myself capable of being a good landed proprietor; and in order to be one, as I understand this word, one needs neither a university diploma nor rank, which you are so anxious I should obtain. Dear aunty, make no ambitious plans for me! Accustom yourself to the thought that I have chosen an entirely different path, which is nevertheless good, and which, I feel, will bring me happiness. I have thought much, very much, about my future duty, have written out rules for my actions, and, if God will grant me life and strength, shall succeed in my undertaking."

If Tolstoy did not really write this letter in his own person, such thoughts and desires agitated his young soul, and gave direction to his life. Tolstoy's attempts - as we know them from the tale - ended in failure. It could not be otherwise. Tolstoy's sincerity of character could not bear a position in which he posed as benefactor to his serfs, i.e., to men wounded in the most precious thing they possessed - their moral dignity. Tolstoy revolted against this contradiction: to become a "cool and stern man," as his aunt advised him in her answer to his letter, he could not, and at the first possible opportunity he changed his way of life. In the autumn of the year 1847, after having spent the summer in yasnaya Polyana, Tolstoy removed to St. Petersburg, and at the beginning of 1848 he entered upon his examinations for a university degree. "In 1848 I went to pass my examination as a candidate at the St. Petersburg University, knowing literally nothing, and having prepared myself for one week only. I did not sleep for nights, and received candidates' marks in civil and criminal law."

To Lowenfeld, Tolstoy thus speaks about this time: "It was very pleasant to live in the country with my aunt Yergolskaya, but a vain thirst for knowledge again called me away. It was in 1848, and still I did not know what to undertake. In St. Petersburg two roads were open to me.  I might enter the army, and take part in the Hungarian campaign, or I might finish my university studies in order afterward to get a post as a Government official.  But my thirst for knowledge conquered my ambition, and I again resumed my studies.  I even passed two successful examinations in criminal law, but after that all my good intentions fell to the ground.  Spring came on, and the delights of country life again attracted me to the estate."

This period of his Petersburg life we can follow through his letters to his brother Sergey. From these we quote one passage bearing a general interest. On February 13, 1848, he wrote to his brother: "I am writing you this letter from St. Petersburg, where I intend remaining forever. All are urging me to remain and serve, except Ferzen and lev.  So I have decided to remain here for my examination and then serve; and if I do not pass (everything may happen), then I shall begin to serve, were it even in the fourteenth rank.  I know many Government officials of this second category who serve no worse than we of the first.  In a word, I will tell you that Petersburg life has a great and good influence on me; it accustoms me to activity, and involuntarily takes the place of a curriculum.  Somehow one cannot be idle; all are occupied, all are busy; indeed, one cannot find a man with whom one could lead a disorderly life, and one can't do it by oneself. "I know that you will not believe that I have altered; that you will say: `This is already the twentieth time, and still no good comes of you; you are the most frivolous fellow - ' No, I have altered in quite a different way from what I did. Then I used to say to myself, `Well, now, I shall change.' But now I see that I have changed, and I say, `I have changed.' "Above all, I am now fully convinced that one cannot live by abstract speculation and philosophy, but that it is necessary to live positively, i.e., to be a practical man. This is a great step forward and a great change.  This has never once happened with me before.  And if one wishes to live and is young, then in Russia there is no other place but St. Petersburg.  Whatever tendency any one may have, there all may be satisfied, and all may be developed, and that without any trouble.  As to the means of life - for a bachelor life here, it is not at all expensive, and, on the contrary, it is cheaper and better than at Moscow, except lodging. "Tell all our folk that I love and greet all, and that in summer I shall perhaps be in the country, but perhaps not. I summer I want to take leave of absence, and visit the neighborhood of St. Petersburg; also I want to go to Helsingfors and Revel. For God's sake, write to me for once in your life. I should like to know how you and all ours will receive this news. As for me, I am afraid of writing to them; I have been so long without writing that they are probably angry, and especially am I ashamed before Tatyana Aleksandrovna; ask her to forgive me."

Alas, these good intentions were not to be realized all at once. Strange as it may seem now, yet at that time Tolstoy's brother had a certain right to call him a "frivolous fellow," as Tolstoy himself confessed to him. Thus in his letter of May 1, 1848, he wrote: "Seryozha! I think you are already saying I am a most frivolous fellow.  And saying the truth.  God knows what I have been up to!  I went to st. Petersburg without any reason; there I have done nothing necessary, only spent a heap of money and run up debts.  Stupid!  Insufferably stupid!  You can't believe how it torments me.  Above all, the debts, which I must pay and as quickly as possible, because if I do not soon pay them, I shall, besides the money, lose my reputation too.  Before I get my  next year's income I absolutely require 3,500 rubles; 1,200 for the Guardians' Council, 1,600 to pay my debts, 700 for my current expenses.  I know you will exclaim - but what is to be done?  Such stupidity is accomplished once in a lifetime.  I had to do penance for my freedom (there was no one th thrash me, and this was my chief misfortune) and for philosophy, and so I have paid premium. Be so kind as to arrange to get me out of the false and odious position in which I now am, without a penny at my disposal and in debt all round. "You probably know that our troops are all starting for the campaign, and that a part of the Second Corps have crossed the frontier and, so they say, are already in Vienna. "I had begun to attend my examinations as `candidate' for my degree, and have, in fact, successfully passed two, but I have now altered my mind and want to enter the Horse Guards as a volunteer. I am ashamed of writing this to you because I know you love me, and will be grieved over all my silly actions and reckless behavior. Even while writing this letter I have several times got up and blushed, as you also will do on reading it--but what is to be done? "Please God I will also some day amend myself and become a respectable man; more than all I rely upon the service as volunteer, it will teach me practical life, and--nolens volens--I shall have to serve up to an officer's rank. With luck, i.e., if the Guards should be in action, I may be promoted even before the end of the two years' term.  The Guards start for the campaign at the end of may.  Now I can do nothing, first because I have no money--I do not need much (again in my own opinion)--and, secondly, my two certificates of birth are at Yasnaya; get them sent as soon as possible.  Please do not be angry with me--as it is I feel my nothingness too much--but quickly do what I ask.  Good-by.  Do not show this letter to Aunty, I do not wish to give her pain."

Soon after, these plans too were dismissed. In one of his subsequent letters to his brother, Tolstoy says: "In my last letter I wrote you a lot of nonsense, of which the chief was that I intended to enter the Horse Guards; I shall stick to this plan only if I do not succeed in passing the examinations and the war should be a serious one."

He probably did not consider the war sufficiently "serious," for he did not enter military service. In the spring he came back to Yasnaya Polyana accompanied by a clever German musician, who was, however, fond of drink. He met him first at the house of his friends, the Perfilyev, and since then had given himself up to music. The German's name was Rudolph. Up to the time of his departure to the Caucasus in 1851, Tolstoy lived partly in Moscow, and partly in Yasnaya Polyana. During this time he developed a phase of asceticism, but varied with outbreaks of feasting, sports, card-playing, visiting gypsies, etc. During these three years of his life Tolstoy tasted of everything which a passionate and energetic young man could seize. At the same time he neglected his diary, for want of time. Only in the middle of 1850 did he recover himself and begin his diary, with confession and self-accusation and expressions of a desire to write down frankly his reminiscences of these "disgracefully spent three years of his life." In his wish to begin a regular life he made out a program of each day from morning to night: estate affairs, bathing, diary, music, meals, rest, reading. But of course the program and the rules were not adhered to, and in the diary there was again an entry recording how little he was pleased with himself. This period of struggle would last for whole months, then suddenly a wave of unrestrained passion would break out and bear down all external restraints. Like a drowning man who clings to a straw, he would, when carried away by his passion, catch at various feelings which might keep him from ruin. One of these was self-respect. "Men whom I consider morally beneath me can do wicked things better than I do," he wrote in his diary, whereupon the wicked things would then become odious to him and he would give them up. Quiet life in the country often helped him to subdue his passions. It is remarkable that in such everyday occupations as card-playing, his noble and generous nature would assert itself. It was probably one of his most powerful passions, but still he kept himself within limits by making it a rule of honor to play only with the rich, his object being that such gain as he made should not cause material loss, or humiliate and ruin his partner. Often, not being able to control himself, he would have a fit of despair, and then again would recover himself and write in his diary: "I am living a completely brutish life, although not an utterly disorderly one. I have abandoned almost all my occupations and have greatly fallen in spirit."

Being at one time in straitened circumstances, he actually intended to start a business of some kind, thinking he would run the mail post in Tula. It was at the end of 1850. Fortunately this enterprise was not carried out, and he thus avoided many disappointments which would have ensued from such uncongenial occupations. Thinking of his failures he once made the following note in his diary: "These are the causes of my failures: "(1) Irresolution, i.e., want of energy. (2) Self- deception. (3) Haste. (4) Fausse-honte [False shame, i.e., French expression for being ashamed of that which is not shameful.] (5) A bad frame of mind. (6) Instability. (7) The habit of imitation. (8) Fickleness. (9) Thoughtlessness."

The greater part of the winter of 1850-51 he passed in Moscow, from which city he often wrote to his aunt in Yasnaya, and told her various details of his life. In one of the letters he thus describes his lodging and environment: "It consists of four rooms--a dining room, where I already have a piano which I have hired; a drawing-room furnished with arm-chairs and tables in walnut, and covered with red cloth and decorated with three large mirrors; a study where I have my writing-table, desk, and arm-chair--which always reminds me of our disputes about this last piece of furniture; and a room big enough to be both bedroom and dressing-room, and besides all this a small anteroom. "I dine at home on shchi and kasha, with which I am quite content. I am only waiting for the confections and home-made wines in order to have everything in accordance with my country habits. "For forty rubles I have bought a sleigh of a style which is now very fashionable--Sergey must know the kind. I have bought all that is necessary for the harness, which at the present moment is very elegant."

Evidently his aunt felt great fears about his behavior in Moscow; in fact she gave him advice and warned him against bad acquaintances, for in the next letter he writes to her: "Why are you so set against Islenyev? If it is in order to warn me against him, that is unnecessary, as he is not at Moscow. All you say on the subject of the evil of gambling is very true, and I often recall it, and consequently I think that I will play cards no more.  `I think,' but I soon hope to tell you for certain. "All you say about society is true, as is everything you say, especially in your letters, first because you write Madame de Sevigne, and secondly because I cannot dispute it in my usual way. You also say much that is kind about myself. I am convinced that praises do as much good as evil. They do good because they maintain one in the good qualities which are praised, and they do evil because they increase vanity. I am sure that yours can only do me good, being dictated by sincere friendship. It goes without saying that this is so, so far as I deserve them. "I think I have deserved them during all the time of my sojourn in Moscow--I am satisfied with myself."

He also called at Yasnaya, from which place he again went to Moscow in March 1951; after his return from this trip, he wrote in his diary that, in coming to Moscow, he had three ends in view--card-playing, marriage, and securing an official situation. However, he did not obtain even one of these objects. He conceived a dislike for gambling, because he had become conscious of the vileness of this passion; he put off marrying because the three things which he recognized as conducing to marriage  --love, reason, and destiny--were not present. He could not secure an appointment, as he had not at hand certain papers which were necessary for this purpose. During the above-mentioned sojourn in Moscow he wrote to his aunt Tatyana, March 8th: "Lately, in a book I was reading, the author said that the first symptoms of spring generally act upon men's morals. `With the new birth of nature one would like to feel oneself also being born again, one regrets the past, the time badly employed, one repents of one's weakness, and the future appears as a bright spot before one; one becomes better--morally better.'  This, as far as I am concerned, is perfectly true.  Since I have begun to live independently spring has always put me in a good disposition, in which I have persevered for a period more or less extended, but it is always the winter that is a stumbling-block for me--I always then go wrong. "However, in comparison with past winters, the last is without doubt the pleasantest and most rational I have passed. I have amused myself, have gone out into society, have laid up pleasant impressions, and, at the same time, have not deranged my finances, though, it is true, neither have I arranged them."

The following letter was written by him after his brother Nikolay returned from the Caucasus; he writes: "The arrival of Nikolay has been an agreeable surprise for me, as I had almost lost all hope of his coming here. I have been so glad to see him that I have even somewhat neglected my duties, or rather my habits. "I am now once more alone and literally alone--I go nowhere and receive no one. I am making plans for spring and summer--do you approve of them? Toward the end of May I shall come to Yasnaya; I will pass a month or two there, and will endeavor to keep Nikolay there as long as possible, and then I will go with him for a tour in the Caucasus."

In the midst of these disturbing scenes of worldly pleasure, card-playing, sensual indulgence, carousals with gypsies and sport, there would come periods of remorse and humiliation. Thus he would write a sermon while preparing for sacrament, but his sermon remained unread. At the same time began attempts at serious artistic writing. Up to 1850 he intended to write a novel of gypsy life. Another plan of the same time was worked out on the lines of the Sentimental Journey of Sterne. "He once sat at the window reflecting and observing all that took place in the street. "There goes a constable. Who is he and what is his life? And that carriage that went by, who is in it?--and where is he going and what is he thinking about? And who live in this house? What is their inner life?...How interesting it would be to describe all this! What an interesting book could be written upon it."

This changeable and dangerous period of life was cut short by his sudden departure for the Caucasus.