His wife said that he might suddenly take a fancy to view the subject from an entirely different point, and write the book all over.

I declined to anticipate my future pleasure by even glancing at it, and I asked no questions.  Neither did I ask to see “The Fruits of Civilization,” which was already written and named, I was not there to exploit their hospitality.

The count and his wife differed as to what ought to be the fate of the coming volume.  He wished to give it to the world (that is, to some publisher) for nothing.  She argued that some one, the publisher at least, would make money out of it; then why not let his own family have the profit, as was just?  He insisted that it was wrong, inconsistent, in the same strain as he discusses the subject of his writings in “What to Do?” But she urged him, in case he would not consent to justice, to leave the manuscript with her, unpublished, so that the family could use it after his death. (When the book was ready it was named “The Kreutzer Sonata.”)

I think that every one must side with the countess in her view of this matter and in her management of the family.  It is owing solely to her that the younger members of the family are receiving that education to fit them for their struggle with life which her husband bestowed upon the elder members voluntarily.  It is due to her alone, also, that her husband is still alive.  It is not an easy task to protect the count against himself.  One adds to one’s admiration for the count’s literary genius an admiration for the countess’s talent and good sense by an extended acquaintance with this family.

More than one community has been organized for the express purpose of carrying out the life of toil which Count Tolstoy has advocated at times.  One of these communities, of which I had direct information, purchased an estate of a landed proprietor, including the manor house, and began to work.  This acquisition of an estate by them, while the count would like to give away his as sinful to retain, does not strike one as a good beginning.  However, they did not use the manor house, but lived in one small peasant hut.  “They all slept on the floor and benches, men and women,” said a Russian to me.  A wealthy man had sold his property to join this community against the wishes of his wife, who accompanied him, nevertheless.  When her baby came, they allowed her to occupy a room in the mansion and required no work from her, since she had the care of the child.  “They never swept or scrubbed anything, and they propagated every insect known to man, and probably a few new ones.”  But the count has never preached this doctrine, or that an indefinite number of persons should occupy a single cottage.  Thus do his too enthusiastic disciples discredit him by running into excesses.