“What right have we to condemn anything in the West, when we are still so far behind them? Our government is so abominable that we have no right at all to condemn any one. We are without the possibility of satisfying the most elementary needs of every man: to read, write, think what and how one wishes.” Tolstoi was now writing _Hadji-Murat_, and he said: “I remember how a long time ago some one gave me a travelling candlestick for a present. When I showed the candlestick to our Yasnaya Polyana carpenter, he looked at it, looked again, and then sighed and said: ‘It is crude stuff!’ The same applies to my present work: it is crude stuff!” _Yasnaya Polyana, August 30th._ I have been here now for three days. Tolstoi talked with Ilya Lvovich and some one else about farming and about the new machine called “The Planet.” Tolstoi said: “It is surprising how few technical inventions and improvements have been made in agriculture, compared with what has been done in industry.” Afterwards Tolstoi said: “Ruskin says how much more valuable human lives are than any improvements and mechanical progress.” Then Tolstoi added: “It is difficult to argue with Ruskin: he by himself has more understanding than the whole House of Commons.” Tolstoi went for a walk, and I fetched him his overcoat. I met him on the road. We walked home together and walked through the fields. Tolstoi looked at the bad harvest and said: “My farmer’s eye is exasperated: God alone knows how they sowed!” When we reached the boundary of the Yasnaya Polyana forest, we heard the loud voices of children, and soon we saw a motley crowd of village boys discussing something. They noticed Tolstoi and began urging one another to go up to him--then they felt shy and hid themselves. Tolstoi became interested in them and beckoned to them. They began to approach, at first timidly and one by one, but gradually all came together. I particularly remember one of them dressed in grey calico striped trousers, in a ragged cap and shirt, with huge heavy boots, probably belonging to his father. Tolstoi showed them his camp stool, which was a great success. He asked them what they were doing there. It appeared they had been picking pears and the watchman ran after them. Tolstoi walked with them. On the way he enquired about their parents. One boy turned out to be the son of Taras Fokanich. Tolstoi said to me: “He was one of my very best pupils. What a happy time that was! How I loved that work! And, above all, there was nobody in my way. Now my fame is always in my way: whatever I do, it is all talked about. But at that time nobody knew or interfered, neither strangers nor my family--though, there was no family then.”