REMINISCENCES OF
LEO NICOLAYEVITCH TOLSTOI
By
MAXIM GORKY
Authorized Translation from the Russian
by
S. S. KOTELIANSKY
and
LEONARD WOOLF
SECOND EDITION
PUBLISHED BY LEONARD & VIRGINIA WOOLF AT
The HOGARTH PRESS, PARADISE ROAD, RICHMOND
1920
TRANSLATORS' NOTE TO SECOND EDITION
Reminiscences of Leo Nicolayevitch Tolstoi, by Maxim Gorky, wasoriginally published in Russian in Petrograd in 1919. The first half ofthe book, consisting of notes, had been written between 1900 and 1901,when Tolstoi, Gorky, and Tchekhov were living in the Crimea. The secondhalf consists of a letter written by Gorky in 1910.
A second edition of the book will shortly be published in Russia, andwill contain a few additional notes not included in the first edition.We have included this additional matter in the present edition,enclosing it in square brackets.
PREFACE
This little book is composed of fragmentary notes written by me duringthe period when I lived in Oleise and Leo Nicolayevitch at Gaspra inthe Crimea. They cover the period of Tolstoi's serious illness andof his subsequent recovery. The notes were carelessly jotted down onscraps of paper, and I thought I had lost them, but recently I havefound some of them. Then I have also included here an unfinishedletter written by me under the influence of the "going away" of LeoNicolayevitch from Yassnaya Polyana, and of his death. I publish theletter just as it was written at the time, and without correcting asingle word. And I do not finish it, for somehow or other this is notpossible. M. GORKY.
NOTES
I
The thought which beyond others most often and conspicuously gnaws athim is the thought of God. At moments it seems, indeed, not to be athought, but a violent resistance to something which he feels abovehim. He speaks of it less than he would like, but thinks of it always.It can scarcely be said to be a sign of old age, a presentiment ofdeath—no, I think that it comes from his exquisite human pride,and—a bit—from a sense of humiliation: for, being Leo Tolstoi, it ishumiliating to have to submit one's will to a streptococcus. If he werea scientist, he would certainly evolve the most ingenious hypotheses,make great discoveries.
II
H3e has wonderful hands—not beautiful, but knotted with swollenveins, and yet full of a singular expressiveness and the power ofcreativeness. Probably Leonardo da Vinci had hands like that. With suchhands one can do anything. Sometimes, when talking, he will move hisfingers, gradually close them into a fist, and then, suddenly openingthem, utter a good, full-weight word. He is like a god, not a Sabaothor Olympian, but the kind of Russian god who "sits on a maple throneunder a golden lime tree," not very majestic, but perhaps more cunningthan all the other gods.
III
He treats Sulerzhizky with the tenderness of a woman. For Tchekhovhis love is paternal—in this love is the feeling of the pride of acreator—Suler rouses in him just tenderness, a perpetual interestand rapture which never seems to weary the sorcerer. Perhaps there issomething a little ridiculous in this feeling, like the love of an oldmaid for a parrot, a pug dog, or a tom-cat. Suler is a fascinatinglywild bird from some strange unknown land. A hundred men like himcould change the face,