Piers Plowman a quaintly allegorical and mediæval poetical, version of Tolstoy's life. During his last few years Tolstoy was occupied by a continuous pilgrimage to all fountains of knowledge, to all systems of religions, and to all manner of men in pursuit of Truth. He could not find it in the Church, nor in Science, nor in Art, nor among the rich, nor among the learned. But he did find it in the lives of the lowly and the suffering-in the Doukhobors, in Soutaieff, in Bôndaref, and in Jesus, the carpenter. Strikingly alike are these two seekers of truth-the one in the fourteenth century in England, and the other at the end of the nineteenth century in Russia! Seeking Do-well, they both find Charity, which is love, among the workers in poverty, and coming to know what love means, they are both led to perceive the meaning of the life of Christ.

CHAPTER III

HOW TOLSTOY TRIED TO LIVE THE TRUTH

"How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the Kingdom of God!" "And a man's foes shall be they of his own household.”

UNLIKE many other philosophers and writers, Tolstoy not only sought the truth and wrote extensively upon his findings, but he felt that he must strive with his whole being to live the truth, as he saw it. He was more than a philosopher, or writer, or preacher; he was a crusader with the aims of a savior. And he knew that his writings would not make one Christian unless he himself put into daily practice the moral principles he advocated. "Now I have become convinced," he wrote his wife, "that only one's life can show the path; only the example of one's life . . . it alone gives a real impulse. Example is the proof of the possibility of Christian . . . life under all possible conditions." (1)

With great earnestness and in all sincerity, Tolstoy endeavored during the last years of his life to follow two difficult Christian precepts-To love your neighbor as yourself; and to "Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.” This meant, of course, that he must change not only his own life, but also that of his family and throw everything into confusion. He felt that he must give up his luxurious habits, produce his bread by the sweat of his own brow, and live the life common to the poorest of his peasantry. Undaunted and without faltering, he put his axe to everything that held him to his

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former life. Although accustomed to smoke and to drink, he gave up both habits, and although extremely fond of shooting, he abandoned this sport. He ceased riding horses, and even when his family went to Moscow, which was one hundred and ninety-five versts from his country house, he made the journey on foot. He liked rich foods, but in pursuit of his ideal, he became a strict vegetarian. He declined to permit the servants in his household to do anything for him. He cleaned and dusted his own study, made up his own bed, cut his own wood. He went to the pump for his own water and carried it to his room for his bath. He sought the assistance of a shoemaker and learned how to cobble and make shoes. He also plowed the fields, cut timber, built huts for the peasants, and reaped and harvested the grain. For a time he gave to everybody that asked of him. He ceased writing novels and instead wrote tracts, parables, and stories, intended to spread a knowledge of the gospels. He refused to copyright all his later writings in order not to make them in any sense his personal property.

These radical innovations in the life of Tolstoy attracted hundreds of truth-seekers, and many interesting and delightful descriptions have been written of the period, at the Tolstoy estate, when "Counts, Princes, teachers, and all sorts of blue-blooded people tried to work in competition with the peasants. Scythes hacked awkwardly, mowing the sappy grass. Every one strove to outdo the others. As far as eye could reach, workers were seen everywhere. All the peasants were there, and so was the Countess in a Russian dress; children and governesses-we all helped to turn the hay. The hunting dogs lay around, and a specially hot sun shone on the smiling meadow. In the distance, on one hill was seen the village, and on another, the Count's house." (2) In these days there were as many divergent views of Tolstoy and of what he was attempting to do as

there were persons who came to visit him. Some of these were casual visitors and curiosity-seekers, often wholly unsympathetic and ununderstanding, who conveyed a totally erroneous impression of his ideas and his life. And while many of their descriptions of the altered life of Tolstoy are interesting, none of them makes quite the same appeal as that written by one of his former school boys, who later became a cabman in Toûla.

"In the 'eighties I heard wonderful things about Leo Nikolayevitch, from some of my mates from Yasnaya Polyâna: how he had become a simple working-man, a ploughman, a mower, a sower, a woodsman, a stovebuilder, a carpenter, and a bootmaker. All peasant-craft came naturally to him. The tales my mates told me were surprising. My good friend and schoolfellow, Ignât Makârof, said to me, 'You would not know Leo Nikolayevitch as he is now, Morôzof! You remember when we were at school? He was good to us then; but now he is still better, and is so to everybody. You should just see how he works: how he ploughs, how he mows! You know how strong he is! Why, if the horse were too weak, you might harness him to the plough! And how he works with us in the village! He is not afraid of the illnesses that are about-not even of cholera. That's how we have trained him. . . . He even boasts about his work.' 'Ah, Ignât,' he says, 'I was quite done-up yesterday, but how well I slept!' And I say to him, 'The sleep itself is worth working for.' And he, 'Yes, yes, Ignât! That's true!' . . . You should drive over to Leo Nikolâyevitch's, Morôzof. He would be glad to see you; he often asks: 'How is Morózof getting on?'— You come, and we will call on him together, and he will give us some books. I have already had many good books from him.'

"My soul felt light and joyful after this talk with my friend, who understands goodness as I do.

So I got ready to go to Yásnaya Polyána, to visit my relations and see Leo Nikolayevitch. Hardly had I got there and put up my horse, when my eighty-year-old aunt came running out and began telling me how hard it was for her to live in this world.

""I have nothing,' she said, 'not a stick of my own. But the Count be thanked, and God give him health! He stands up for us forlorn ones; he has brought in my hay, and carted the manure, and ploughed the fallow, and done the sowing. God give him health and strength! . . . And see now! He is rebuilding our homestead. He brought the timber himself. . . The old hut was ready to fall in on us altogether. . . .

"After a chat with my aunt, I went to see Leo Nikolayevitch the carpenter. I did not go near at once, but stopped where I could not myself be seen, to watch them. I stood admiring their work. Dear me! What had become of Leo Nikolayevitch? Hair and beard are quite grey, and he has become wrinkled . . . he has grown old. But look how he sits astride on the top beam, cutting out a place for the cross-rafter to fit into! His shirt-sleeves are turned up, his unbuttoned shirt shows his bare chest; his hair is dishevelled. The locks in his beard shake at each blow of the He has a chisel stuck in his girdle behind, and a hand-saw hangs from his waist. . . .

axe.

"After seeing Leo Nikolayevitch at his work as a carpenter, I had a talk with him which still remains in my mind. "For me, the meaning of 'Count' and his 'His Excellency' has quite gone: but the idea of Daddy Leo the carpenter, Daddy Leo the ploughman, the mower, the oven-builder, have become quite distinct. And his words about goodness remain with me. 'Let me not waste the short time left me! To-day I am alive; to-morrow, in my grave.'

"I became attached to Leo Nikolayevitch with my whole soul, and often planned to get an interview with him. He