"fne Avrosiocrarsy oF—Couxress Soruiz Torstoy. (Hogarth Press.
4s.)
Tolstoy had gone away from his home when he first became convinced of the truth of his view of Christianity there might have been only one tragedy in the Tolstoy family life—the agony of his wife. He stayed, compromising with himself, never forgiving himself, never forgiving her, and life was spoiled for both of them, and no doubt for some of their children. This brief autobiography of Countess Tolstoy—why do not translators of Tolstoy's works adopt his own spelling of his name in English is heartrending in its childish poignancy and simplicity. The editor says Countess Tolstoy was latterly not quite sane. Of this there is no evidence; but the book has a pitiful stupidity as of a puzled child wondering about some problem it cannot fathom.
It was difficult for me to discover the causes of his despair or to induce myself to believe in them. Our family lived its normal, good life, but it no longer satisfied him; he was looking for the meaning of life in something different; he was seeking fod belief in God, he always shuddered at tile thought of death, and he could) not find that which might comfort him and reconcile him with it..... I did not know how to live with such views; I was alarmed, frightened, grieved. But with nine children I could not, like a weathercock, turn in the ever-changing direction of my husband's spiritual going-away. With him it was a passionate, sincere secking; wit me it would have been a. silly imitation, positively harmful to the family... Leo Nikolaevich was himself for nearly two years at the beginning of his seeking, extremely orthodox, and observed all rituals and feasts.
At the time the domily also followed his example. When exactly we parted from him and over what, I do not know, I cannot remember.
"T do not know, I cannot remember—" this from the life-long companion, the devoted wife and nurse of one whose days must have been filled with long arguments on the fundamentals of the faith he professed. No one reading this book can feel anything but pity for its author; yet it is not possible to feel anger at Tolstoy, only sorrow that there was some weakness in his will which prevented him either from following his ideal to the uttermost or from a whole-hearted sacrifice of his principle of truth to the patient, unintelligent, yet obstinate convictions of his wife. There is little enough in the book about the details of their home life either before or after the break. Countess Tolstoy's detestation of Tchertkov is plainly expresse but she has no power of charact drawing. For her the important things of life were first her children and husband, and then the little! things—compliments from the Emperor or from friends—which were all that her devotion as wife and mother left her time to enjoy. She writes a. little about her husband's books; but there is no evidence that she reilly appreciated his work, though she certainly did his fame.—The "Observer."
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.