subject in which he seemed keenly interested, and he invariably glowed into anger or admiration when he spoke of them. "It is a wonderful work—a wonderful work," he said. "It is a great loss that more is not known about it in Europe." "But Europe could never give them any practical help. Their position in any European country would be no better than in Russia. If they had not to serve in the army, they must pay war taxes," I said. "That is so," he said; "but it is a great loss that so little is known about them."
Of the Dukhobor movement in general he spoke very often, and nearly always with admiration of the peasant Sutayeff, who he seemed to think was quite unknown outside his own circle. "It is the only attempt to realize Christianity that I can see," he said, and then mentioned the Quakers, of whom he had evidently read much. But in general his conversation was desultory, and when his eye fell upon some book or paper lying near, he would take it up, drop the first subject, and begin to talk of books. He seemed to receive large numbers of works in English, especially American works on social and theological questions, and spoke about some of them very warmly. But in regard to novels his attitude was almost invariably the same. He would begin by praising them for their literary skill, characterization, and knowledge of life, and end by saying that they lacked the only justification of art—its serious interest and moral import. Of his own writings, with the exception of letters and articles upon social questions upon which he was actually engaged, he never talked; and the general belief that he regarded his former novels as worthless prevented the question being raised. Only once he mentioned his writings, and then in connection with the translations done by Mrs. Maude, which he praised highly.
Tolstoy's speech in general was witty, placid, full of aphorisms and illustrations taken from popular life, many of which are very difficult for a foreigner to understand. Only when he spoke of oppression and wrongdoing did his manner change, and the change then was into anger, not compassion, even when dealing with misfortunes for which no one could be held responsible. He seemed a man in whom sensibility was replaced by an intense and hardly defined sense of right and wrong. Though indulgent toward differences of opinion and habits in individuals, he seemed in general impatient, irritable, and almost intolerant of opposition. Opposition on general principles seemed to annoy him. His language was the language of a man of warm, masterful temperament, to whom any attempt to subject himself to abstract rules of humility and forbearance An image should appear at this position in the text.COUNT TOLSTOY AND HIS WIFE. must be an intolerable strain. In repose his face was rigid, severe, and prophetic. He spoke with a sarcastic contempt of things which he disliked, and his laugh, even when caused by simple merriment, sounded ironical.
Of Tolstoy's manner of life in Moscow I saw little, my visits being always in the evening. It seemed much less varied than at Yasnaya Polyana. He worked all the morning in a chaos of unintelligible manuscripts, dined late, and rode or received visitors in the evening. Of visitors there were a great many, and all, whether strangers or relatives, were treated on the same basis of simple familiarity, intimacy in regard to his work, intentions, and opinions being observed with all. My first visit was rut short by the count announcing that he was going with his sons and another visitor to the public baths, and he invited me to accompany the party as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The Banya is of course one of the great embodiments of Russian communism, all with a minimum of privacy bath-
