The Diaries of Sofia Tolstoy (13 page)

All very noisy, difficult and tedious. I long to be alone with my family and for life to resume a more sensible leisurely course. These guests take up all my time.

The days are hot, the nights are cool. We go swimming. There is an abundance of fruit.

 

19th August
. The painter Repin* visited on the 9th, and left on the night of the 16th. He did two portraits of Lev Nikolaevich; the first he started painting in the study downstairs, but he wasn't satisfied with it and started on another in the drawing room upstairs, against a bright background. It's extraordinarily good, and is still drying. The first he finished in a rough-and-ready fashion and gave to me. Lyovochka's “dark ones”* are here: Butkevich, Rakhmanov and a student from Kiev. What peculiar and disagreeable people they are, and what a strain they put on our family life. And what a lot of them there are! This is the price we must pay for Lyovochka's fame and the originality of his ideas.

He has been reading Gogol's
Dead Souls
aloud to us in the evening. I have neuralgia.

 

25th August
. I spent the day sorting out Lyovochka's manuscripts, setting aside the ones I want to take to the Rumyantsev Museum for safekeeping. I had a terrible job trying to put in order this jumble of papers, which I am
sure
will never be properly sorted and read.

Lev Nikolaevich started taking Ems Kesselbrunn water on 17th June, 1888. He drank these waters for four weeks starting in June 1889, and for four weeks starting on 8th May, 1890, and he drank mare's milk all summer.

He brought me this flower in October 1890, at Yasnaya Polyana.*

 

28th February, 1888—Ilya Tolstoy marries Sofia Filosofova. 31st March—Sofia Tolstoy gives birth to Ivan (Vanechka), her last child and her ninth son. Tolstoy starts writing
The Kreutzer Sonata. The Power of Darkness
produced in the Théâtre Antoine in Paris
.

 

Autumn 1889—Tolstoy finishes
The Kreutzer Sonata.
November—800 copies secretly lithographed in the Intermediary offices and circulated
in St Petersburg before being passed by the censor. This (and the story's contents) provokes furious arguments between the Tolstoys. Sofia's eleventh edition of Tolstoy's
Complete Works
published, Volume 12 separately, and Volume 13, containing
The Kreutzer Sonata,
still not passed by the censors
.

Sofia Tolstoy involved in litigation with priest from nearby village of Ovsyannikovo over some disputed land. Tolstoy working on
The Kingdom of God Is within You.
November—
The Kreutzer Sonata
published. Sofia writes her story ‘Who Is to Blame?', her riposte to
The Kreutzer Sonata.
Vanechka becomes the centre of her attention
.

 

20th November (Yasnaya Polyana)
. I have been copying Lyovochka's diaries, which cover his whole life, so I decided I would start writing mine again, because I've never been more lonely within my family than I am now. My sons are all over the place: Seryozha in Nikolskoe, Ilya and his family in Grinevka and Lyova in Moscow. Tanya too has just gone for a visit there. I stay here with the little ones and give them their lessons. Masha and I have never been close; I don't know whose fault it is,* mine most likely. And now Lyovochka has broken off all relations with me. Why? What can the reason be? I simply cannot understand. When he is ill he lets me nurse him, but only in the most rude and grudging manner, and only so long as he needs his poultices and so on. I have done everything in my power to achieve a deeper, more spiritual intimacy with him—it's what I want more than anything in the world. I secretly read his diaries too, in the hope of discovering how I could help him, and myself, understand how we might be reunited. But these diaries have reduced me to even greater despair; and he must have discovered I was reading them, for he has started hiding them away. He hasn't mentioned it though.

I used to copy everything he wrote, and loved doing it. Now he conceals everything from me and gives it to his daughters instead. He is systematically destroying me by driving me out of his life in this way, and it is unbearably painful. There are times in this useless life of mine when I am overwhelmed with despair and long to kill myself, run away, fall in love with someone else—anything not to have to live with this man who for some reason I have always loved, despite everything. I now see just how I have idealized him, how long I refused to realize that there was nothing in him but sensuality. Now my eyes have been opened, and I see that my life is destroyed. I envy people like the Nagornovs, for they are
together
, and have things in common
besides the physical bond. And plenty of other people live like them. As for us—my God, he is always so unfriendly, so querulous and so artificial when he speaks to me! How can he treat me like this when I am so open and cheerful with him, so eager for his affection!

Tomorrow I am going to Moscow on business. I generally find such expeditions hard work and nerve-racking, but this time I am glad to be going. They ebb and flow like waves, these difficult times when I realize how lonely I am and want only to cry, and know that I must somehow put a stop to it, make it easier. I pray for a long time every night now and find this a good way to end the day.

 

5th December
. I am going on with my diary. I went to Moscow, saw a lot of people and enjoyed a lot of hospitality, for which I thank my good fortune. My daughter Tanya was there too; I am always so happy to see her, and I value her company. Lyova is still very jumpy; whenever I go near him he recoils from me, which I find very hurtful. Yet he always senses when he is doing it, which is some consolation. I am sure he will manage to put this anxious, pessimistic state behind him somehow. When I got back, Lyovochka was just leaving for Krapivna with Masha, Vera Tolstaya and Vera Kuzminskaya to attend a trial. It was cold outside and there was a blizzard, but I hadn't the strength to stop them. Thanks to Lyovochka's influence the murderers received a very light sentence—deportation instead of penal servitude—so they all returned well pleased.* Misha was ill for five days with a high fever and an upset stomach. I spent all my time looking after him, which exhausted me, and I haven't rested properly after my visit to Moscow. We have guests at the moment. Today I played Beethoven's
Una Fantasia
and
Adelaide
, and sight-read some Schubert.

 

6th December
. Today is a holiday, Andryusha's 13th birthday. We all walked up the hill and went skating. The girls and boys all looked so smart and cheerful; they had a marvellous time. I dragged myself around on the ice, I don't enjoy it any more. Tanya went off to Tula for a name-day party given by the Zinovievs and the Davydovs. I did almost no work, just copied out a little of Lev Nikolaevich's diary, then entertained our guests and played with the children. I spend all my time with Vanechka.*

 

9th December
. Once more I am ending the day with a heavy heart. Everything makes me anxious. I have been copying out Lyovochka's youthful diaries. Today I went for a walk. It was a marvellous day,
14° below zero, frosty and clear, and every tree, bush and blade of grass was covered in thick snow. I passed the threshing floor and took the path into the plantation. On my left the sun was already low in the sky, and on my right the moon was rising. The white treetops gleamed, the sky was blue, everything was bathed in a rosy light, and in the distant clearing the fluffy snow was dazzling white. What
purity
. And what a fine beautiful thing this whiteness and purity is, whether in nature, in one's heart, morals and conscience, or in one's material life. I have tried so hard to preserve it in myself—and all for what? Wouldn't the mere memory of love—however sinful—be preferable to the emptiness of an immaculate conscience?

I played a Mozart symphony on the piano today, first with Tanya then with Lyovochka. We didn't get it right at first, and he went for me peevishly; it was all very brief and insignificant, but I found it so hurtful that I lost all enthusiasm for playing and felt terribly sad. Then Biryukov came and we had to stop. I do hope he leaves soon, and that Masha will settle down. Now this silly business has started it won't be easily laid to rest.* I read a novel in the
Revue des Deux Mondes
which describes a young girl's joy at staying in the house of the man she loves, surrounded by all
his
furniture,
his
things,
his
life. How true that is! But what if these things are boots, boot-making tools, chamber pots and mud,* what then? No, I shall never grow used to it.

 

10th December
. I have to endure a sad time in my old age. Lyovochka has surrounded himself with the most peculiar circle of friends, who call themselves his disciples. One of them arrived this morning. This man, Butkevich, has been in Siberia for his revolutionary ideas, wears dark glasses and is a dark and mysterious person, and has brought his Jewish mistress with him, whom he refers to as his wife because she lives with him. As Biryukov was here too, Masha went downstairs to prance around and make herself agreeable to this Jewess. It made my blood boil—to think that my daughter, a respectable girl, should associate with such rabble, apparently with her father's approval. I shouted at him in a rage: “You may be used to spending your life with riff-raff but I'm not, and I don't wish my daughters to associate with them!” He sighed of course, and was furious, but said nothing and walked away. Biryukov's presence is also oppressive; I can't wait for him to leave. Masha was lingering in the drawing room this evening after we had left, and I thought I saw him kiss her hand. When I mentioned it to her though she angrily denied it. I suppose she is
right, but how is one to know what is right in all the secrecy, lies and artificiality? They have worn me down. Sometimes I feel like letting Masha go. “Why hold on to her?” I think. “Let her go with Biryukov, then I can take her place beside Lyovochka. I shall do his copying, put his affairs and his correspondence in order, and gradually, without him noticing, send this whole hateful crowd of ‘dark ones' packing.”

Lyova still hasn't come; I wonder how his health is. Andryusha, Misha and I thought that for our Christmas play we might put on a translation from a Japanese story. I knitted Misha a blanket, did some copying, gave the children two hours of religious instruction and shall now do some reading.

 

11th December
. At the dinner table Lyovochka told me that the peasants who had been arrested for felling thirty trees in our birch wood were waiting outside to see me.* Whenever I am told that someone is waiting to see
me
, and that I have to take some decision, I am seized with terror and want to cry. Being expected to manage the estate and the household “in a
Christian spirit
” is like being gripped in a vice, with no possible escape; it is a heavy cross to bear. If personal salvation and the spiritual
life
means
killing
one's closest friend, then Lyovochka's salvation is assured. But is this not the death of us both?

 

13th December
. I didn't write my diary yesterday—I was too distressed all day by thoughts of the peasants who were found guilty, although I didn't know this until the evening. Biryukov left and an Englishman named Dillon arrived; he has translated ‘Walk in the Light', etc. I copied Lyovochka's diaries all day yesterday, and there were moments when I felt quite sorry for him—how lonely and helpless he was! But he has always, throughout his life, followed the same path, that of the intellect. Today I learnt that the peasants had been sentenced to 6 weeks in jail and a 27-ruble fine. Once again a sob rose in my throat, and I've felt like weeping all day. I am sorry mainly for
myself
: why should people be punished in
my
name, when I have nothing against them and would never wish anyone any harm? Even from a practical point of view, it is not my property, yet I have become a sort of scourge! I taught the children for three hours without a break and was patient with them. Lyova and I had a talk about Tanya and Masha yesterday; we both want them to get married, though not Masha to Biryukov of course.*

 

14th December
. I copied Lyovochka's diaries up to the part where he wrote: “There is no such thing as love,
only the physical need for intercourse and the practical need for a life companion
.” I only wish I had read that 29 years ago, then I would never have married him. I gave Misha his lesson, played with Vanechka. I taught Sasha* her “Our Father”, and did a little copying. I had a talk with Masha about Biryukov. She assured me that if I didn't let her marry him she wouldn't marry anyone. Then she added: “But there's no need to worry. Anything might happen!” And I felt she actually wanted to be released from this entanglement with him. Tanya was deep in some long mysterious discussion with her today and they seemed to be having a good time.

 

17th December
. Lyovochka is beginning to worry about me copying out his diary. He would like to destroy his old diaries, as he wants to appear before his children and the public as a saintly patriarchal figure. Still the same old vanity!

Some “dark ones” have arrived: silly Popov, some weak, lazy Oriental, and stupid fat Khokhlov, who is of merchant origin. To think that these people are the great man's disciples—these wretched specimens of human society, windbags with nothing to do, wastrels with no education. Tanya and young Lyova went off to see Ilya last night. The children's lessons were interrupted by the arrival of Eduard Kern, who used to be a forester on the Zaseka estate and is now a landowner; he gave me some useful tips on the forests and orchards.

 

19th December
. I had an unpleasant scene with Andryusha: he often
deliberately
misunderstands, and simply
refuses
to make the slightest effort to think or remember. This evening I shall entertain our guests, then take a bath.

 

20th December
. This evening I copied part of Lyovochka's article on the Church.*

The Church as an idea, as the true religion, which guards the gathering of the faithful, cannot be denied. But the existing Church with all its rituals is unacceptable. Why should one have to poke a stick in a piece of bread instead of simply reading the Bible story about the soldier who pierced the rib of Christ? There is such a profusion of these primitive rituals and they have killed the Church. It is 10 o'clock. We shall have some tea, then read. I haven't copied
Lyovochka's diaries today, and consequently feel much calmer and fresher.

 

23rd December
. A lot has happened these past few days. The day before yesterday we were woken up at 6 a.m. by two telegrams, the first saying that Sonya was ill, the second announcing that she had had a son.* I was excited and delighted by the news, but not for long, for I soon started thinking what an unreliable father Ilya will be, despite being so sweet and kind. I always feel a special tenderness for Sonya, mainly because unlike all of us, who are restless, nervous, hot-tempered and forever picking quarrels, she is gentle and even-tempered. Ilya, Tanya and Natasha Filosofova came back from Kursk on the train. I had the usual unpleasant discussion with Ilya about money and property, and he left this evening. I spent all yesterday in Tula, dined at the Davydovs' and wearily bought some things for the Christmas tree. Christmas used to be fun, but now I am tired of it. We made flowers for the tree and gilded nuts, and the whole day passed in a rather dreary, futile manner. I received a very flattering letter from Fet which was almost a love letter. I felt terribly pleased, although I've never loved him in the slightest—I have always found him rather unattractive, in fact.*

 

24th December
. I got up late; Vanechka came into my room and I played with him for an hour. Then I went downstairs. Seryozha arrived and played the piano. He is being very affable and kind, like a man who has
achieved
something and can now take a rest. My Masha is pathetically thin and wretched. We had a cheerful dinner and afterwards Lyovochka read the Bible, much of which made us laugh. I cut out cardboard puppets for the children's play I am putting on—what foolishness.