"My Visit to Tolstoy": Five Discourses

by Joseph Krauskopf

As severe with the world so gentle with his own.

As fearless as he was in his denunciations of the wrong-doings of government and church and society, and as bold as he was in his reform propositions, so gentle and simple-minded was he at his family table. I had read that two kinds of meals were served at his table, a frugal one for himself and a sumptuous one for the rest of his family. The meal of which I partook was a frugal one for all. I was, however, little conscious of what I ate. I was held spell-bound by the count's conversation which dominated the table, and which was carried on in English, occasionally passing into German or French or Russian.

A table incident.

He was in an especially happy mood that evening. In the mail that had been brought to the table there were a number of papers. Opening one of these, the London Standard, I believe, he observed that an article of his had been severely censored by the Russian government. Large parts of it had been smeared over with black ink. What amused him was that the parts that were left uncensored were worse than those that had been blackened out, revealing the stupidity of the censor. Turning to me, who sat at his right, he said that had the article been a panegyric on the Czar, it would probably have received the same treatment, for no matter what he writes, it is daubed over, here and there, on the general principle that, having been written by Tolstoy, it must of necessity be revolutionary. Continuing, he told me that that particular article was one of a series on the subject of "Christianity and Patriotism," which, not being permitted to be published in Russia, appeared in translation in England. In it he endeavored to show that Christianity and patriotism were incompatible, that the latter was an artificial creation, skilfully nourished by rulers for selfish purposes. On account of it wars are waged, evils are wrought, sufferings are inflicted by Christians upon Christians, who are religiously taught to love one another, to forgive one another, to do good to each other, and who are patriotically trained to hate and overreach each other. Humanity, he said, must be put in the place of patriotism. The latter is both stupid and unmoral, stupid because it leads each nation to regard itself the superior of all others, and unmoral because it lures nations to possess themselves of advantages at the cost of others, thus violating the fundamental law of morality, that of not doing to others what they would not have others do to them. Humanity makes the whole world every man's country, and every man each man's brother.

His home over-run by visitors.

When first introduced to the family I felt that their welcome was not quite as hearty as was that of the count. I could easily understand the reason. The presence of guests was almost a daily occurrence, and quite a burden on the household. The count denied himself to none who had a genuine purpose for seeking him. But he was out of patience with mere curiosity seekers or newspaper writers, who sought to rob him of his valuable time in order to fill a column or two with sensational matter. One such writer, a lady journalist, came one day for the sole purpose of having him give her the menu of his vegetarian diet, to tell her whether his undergarments were of as coarse a fabric as were his outer clothes, and whether an equally picturesque peasant-garb might not be designed for women.

Special incident wins for me family's special welcome.

My first impression that I was classed with the other afflictions of the count's universal popularity soon wore off, however, by reason of a letter to the family which I brought with me from a distinguished professor. This gentleman had, a short time before, been dismissed from the university of St. Petersburg because he had published an essay on The Ethics of the Talmud, in which he had endeavored to show the lofty moral teachings of the Jews. I had made his acquaintance while in St. Petersburg, and before leaving that city he called on me, and asked me whether I would not take a letter from him, of an entirely uncompromising nature, to Tolstoy, inasmuch, as at that particular time, a letter mailed to the count did not, for easily accountable reasons, always reach him. I readily consented, and that little service, the professor having been a great favorite of the count, made me a welcome guest also to the family.

Approves of stand taken to gain admission.

Supper over, the count invited my companion and myself to join him on a walk and to tell him of what service he could be to me. I told him of the mission that brought me to Russia and of the difficulties that were placed in the way of my admission. He approved of the stand I had taken, but asked me to blame the governments for it, mine as well as his, and not the Russians, who are a kindly people.