The sixth, Peter, is a giant, a huge, delightful baby in a
mob-cap, turns out his elbows, strives eagerly after something.
My wife falls into an ecstasy of agitation and emotion when she
holds him in her arms; but I am completely at a loss to
understand. I know that he has a great store of physical energy,
but whether there is any purpose for which the store is wanted I
do not know. That is why I do not care for children under two or
three; I don't understand.


This letter was written in 1872, when I was six years old.
My recollections date from about that time. I can remember a few
things before.



FAMILY LIFE IN THE COUNTRY

FROM my earliest childhood until the family moved into Moscow--
that was in 1881--all my life was spent, almost without a
break, at Yasnaya Polyana.

This is how we live. The chief personage in the house is my
mother. She settles everything. She interviews Nikolai,
the cook, and orders dinner; she sends us out for walks, makes
our shirts, is always nursing some baby at the breast; all day
long she is bustling about the house with hurried steps. One can
be naughty with her, though she is sometimes angry and punishes
us.