In publishing the diary devoted to my friendship of nearly fifteen years with Leo Nikolaevich Tolstoi, I think it best to state first what my aim was in making notes, and the method I pursued in doing so.
I put down chiefly Tolstoi's words, and to some extent the events of his private life, making no attempt to select what would be interesting from some special point of view, but adopting no method and attempting to supply no connection between one entry and another.
My diary, therefore, is in no sense "literature." Its aim is to be a document.
Unfortunately, I did not always make notes and was far from writing down everything. After 1908 my records were fuller; in 1909-1910, the last year of Tolstoi's life, my reports were voluminous ; but it was only in 1 910 that my records were as complete as they could possibly be. This is the cause of a great disproportion between the parts. The first volume of my diary contains the long period from January 1896 to January 1st, 1910, the second volume records and materials for the year 1910 only, yet vol. ii. is considerably larger than vol. i.
My notes from 1896 to 1904 are now published for the first time. The notes from 1904 to 1908 were published in Russ. Prop. vol. ii., and the notes from the end of 1908 to January 1 st, 1910, appeared in Tolstoi: Pamyatnikj Zhi^ni i Tvorchestva. The parts of the diary which have been previously published are here published in a considerably enlarged form.
A. GOLDENVEIZER.
My first visit to the house of Leo Nikolaevich was on January 20th, 1896. I was not then twenty-one years old. I was almost a boy. I was taken to the Tolstois' by a well-known Moscow lady singer who used to visit the Tolstois. She took me there in my capacity as pianist, of course. If one is so unlucky as to play some instrument, or to sing or recite, one has a constant impediment in one's relations with people. People do not take to one, are not interested in one as in a person : one is asked to play something, to sing, to recite. . . . Hence one feels so embarrassed, so awkward, in other people's society.
I felt awkward then, and painfully shy. I was introduced. I went into the drawing-room, where, fortunately, two or three people I knew were sitting. I did not yet see Tolstoi. Shortly afterwards he came in, dressed in a blouse, with his hands in his belt. He greeted us all. I do not remember whether he spoke to me then. Then I played, and played badly. Of course, out of politeness I was thanked and complimented, which made me inexpressibly ashamed. And then, when I stood in the middle of the large room, at a loss, not knowing what to do with myself, not daring to raise my eyes, Leo Nikolaevich came up to me, and, speaking with a simplicity which was his alone, began to talk to me.
