The Diaries of Sofia Tolstoy (16 page)

Masha's birthday. What a dreadful day it was, and it's still just as dreadful twenty years later.*

 

13th February
. Yesterday's discussion distressed me deeply. But it ended with a reconciliation, and we agreed to try to live the rest of our lives as amicably as we could.

Tanya is in a strange hysterical mood. This mundane life, and all my cares about the children and their illnesses, have once again paralysed my spiritual life and my soul is asleep. It is a hateful feeling.

 

15th February
. Lyovochka has virtually forbidden me to copy out his diaries, and I am furious, for I have already copied so much that there's almost nothing left of the book I'm working on now. I shall go on with it while he is not looking, for I
must
finish: I made up my mind long ago that it
had
to be done. We had a letter from Misha Stakhovich who again urged me to go to St Petersburg for an audience with the Tsar, to discuss with him the censors' attitude to Lyovochka. He puts great faith in this visit. If only I liked
The Kreutzer Sonata
, if only I believed in the future of Lyovochka's
literary
work—then I would go. But now I don't know where I'll find the energy and enthusiasm I would need to exert my influence on the Tsar and his rather inflexible view of the world. I used to have a great sense of power over others, but no longer.

We went to Kozlovka to collect the mail, Lyovochka on horseback and Tanya, Masha, Ivan Alexandrovich and I by sledge.

A heavenly moonlit night, the gleaming snow, the smooth road, frost, silence. On the way home I thought with horror of life in the city. How could I ever live without this natural beauty, and the vast space and freedom of the country?

 

16th February
. I keep dreaming of the Tsar and Tsarina and think
constantly about visiting St Petersburg. Vanity plays a major part in all this—I shall not give in to it and won't go.

I have been busy all day, cutting out underwear and sewing on my machine. I am still reading
La Physiologie de l'amour moderne
, and am interested by this analysis of sexual love. I gave the children a music lesson. Andryusha is playing a Beethoven sonata and Misha one of Haydn's. Masha, Andryusha and Alexei Mitrofanovich taught the peasant girls and the housemaids in the “little house” this evening. Tanya is distracted and on edge, waiting for something to happen with Stakhovich.

 

17th February
. We had a letter from Lyova in Moscow saying he has been ill, apparently with the same thing the children had here in Yasnaya. I feel very worried, even though he writes matter-of-factly and says it's not serious. Ilya is also in Moscow, selling clover. Lyovochka is cheerful, but in an agitated state. First he goes to Pirogovo, then to Tula; one moment he refuses meat broth, next he demands oat coffee—being healthy evidently bores him. I personally find his fussiness worrying and a nuisance. He keeps saying he cannot write. Masha gave another evening class today; she was the only teacher there, and was exhausted.

 

20th February
. This evening Lyovochka, the two Gués and I had a painful discussion about our marriages and how much husbands suffer when their wives don't understand them. Lyovochka said: “You conceive a new idea, give birth with all the agony of childbirth to an entirely new spiritual philosophy, and all they do is resent your suffering and refuse to understand!” I said that while they were giving birth in their imagination to all these spiritual children, we were giving birth, in real pain, to real live children, who had to be fed and educated and needed someone to protect their property and their interests; one's life was much too full and complicated to give it all up for the sake of one's husband's spiritual vagaries, which one would never keep up with anyway and could only regret. We both said much more in the same reproachful vein, yet in our hearts we both wanted the same thing—at least I always do: to stop opening up old wounds and try to live together as friends. Any person—not only one's husband whom one loves—will be treated kindly if they are truly good, in word and deed. It may be a slow business and take time, but it cannot be otherwise if a person really means well.

 

23rd February
. Lyovochka was making boots this evening and complaining of a chill. There is a terrible wind outside, a real gale. I spent the day looking after Sasha and playing with Vanechka. I gave Andryusha and Misha a two-hour music lesson and worked on my blanket. I am persecuted by sinful thoughts; I have the strange sensation that they have nothing to do with my life or soul—all my life I have felt they were something quite independent of me, without the power to touch or harm me.

I was pleased with Misha today, who played the piano very well. We started practising the serenade from
Don Giovanni
arranged for four hands, and he beamed with pleasure at the melody.

He and Andryusha are always whispering
secrets
, which I find dreadfully upsetting. Borel* has perhaps corrupted them—goodness knows! Purity, sublime purity, this is what I value more highly than anything in the world.

 

25th February
. Vanechka woke me at 4 in the morning with a rasping cough. Masha and I both leapt out of bed and gave him some heated seltzer water to drink, then we boiled up some water and turpentine, poured it in a basin, covered all our heads in a sheet and made him inhale the steam. This relieved the choking, but his temperature shot up to 40° and he started coughing again. I thought it would be a long illness but it was all over in twenty-four hours, and today he was singing ‘The Lyre' in the drawing room. Sasha is much better too and has got up.

I gave the children a scripture lesson and spent a long time explaining the notion of God to Misha. He has heard so many ideas denied, particularly concerning the Church, that he is now thoroughly confused. But I tried my best to explain the true meaning of the Church as I understand it: an
assembly of the faithful
, a
repository
of holiness, contemplation and faith, not a mere ritual. Lyovochka is happy, calm and well. Our relations are friendly and straightforward—superficially: it doesn't go very deep. But it's certainly much better than at the beginning of the winter. The wind is still howling. Olga Ershova's little girl has died in the village. She was her mother's favourite, seven years old and such a darling. I feel dreadfully sorry for her; Lyovochka and Annenkova went to see her but I couldn't go.

 

2nd March
. Yesterday was a lazy holiday. The children and the Raevskys went to the Rovsky Barracks* for tea. They took their
things with them and played games after dinner. Vanechka was utterly adorable and tried to understand all the games and join in the fun. The dear, pale, clever little mite is particularly touching when he is with grown-ups, especially the Raevskys. Seryozha and Ilya arrived here today with Tsurikov, Seryozha's colleague and their neighbour. Ilya invariably asks me for money, which is most unpleasant. He has such a frivolous attitude to it and lives such an extravagant life. Lyovochka is wretched; when I asked him why, he said his writing isn't going well. And what is he writing about? About non-resistance.* So it doesn't surprise me in the least! Everybody, including him, is sick of the subject—it has been examined and discussed from every conceivable viewpoint. He wants to work on some
fictional
subject but doesn't know how. That would demand a lot of
philosophizing
. Once he let his true creative powers pour forth he wouldn't be able to stop the flow, and he would then find all this non-resistance most awkward—he's terrified to let it go, yet his soul yearns for it.

My son Lyova took great offence when Seryozha and I told him we thought he was looking unwell. I felt sorry for him, but hurt his feelings instead.

Today I finished Bourget's
Physiologie de l'amour moderne
, in French. It's clever but it bored me; it all centres on one thing and a life that is alien to me.

 

6th March
. Seryozha went to Nikolskoe and Masha took a sick peasant woman to Tula, and Sashka the village girl went too to keep her company. Life has resumed its normal course. It was lovely to see my nine children all sit down at the table with us old folk on Saturday and Sunday. I have been at home all day doing various tasks. As I wanted some exercise after dinner I joined Lyovochka who was playing with the little ones, Sasha, Vanechka and Kuzka. Every evening after dinner he puts them one at a time into an empty basket, closes it and drags it around the house. Then he stops and makes the one in the basket guess which room he is in. Lyova is all skin and bones and my heart aches for him.

I read some Spinoza on my own. His interest in the Jewish people doesn't particularly excite me; we shall see what happens in the part which contains his
éthique
.

Over tea we had a talk about food, luxury and the vegetarian diet Lyovochka is always preaching. He said he had seen one in some German magazine that recommends a dinner of bread and almonds. I am quite sure the man who wrote this keeps to it in the same
way Lyovochka practises the chastity he preaches in
The Kreutzer Sonata
.

 

10th March
. Lyovochka was having his breakfast today when the letters and papers were delivered from Kozlovka. “Still no news about Volume 13,” I said. “What are you fussing about?” he said. “No doubt I shall be forced to renounce the copyright on all the works in Volume 13.” “Just wait until it comes out,” I said. “Yes, of course,” he said, and left the room. I was seething at the thought that he was intending to deprive me of badly-needed money for my children, and tried to think of a spiteful reply. So as he was going out for his walk, I said to him: “Go ahead, publish your renunciation. But I shall publish a statement immediately below it saying I hope the publisher is sufficiently sensitive not to exploit the copyright that belongs to your children.” He then told me
I
was being insensitive, but he spoke gently and I made no answer. If I really loved him, he went on, I myself would publish a statement that he had surrendered the copyright on his new works. He then left the room and I felt so sorry for him: all these material considerations seem so paltry compared to the pain of our estrangement. After dinner I apologized to him for speaking maliciously, and said I wouldn't publish anything; the idea of distressing him was unbearable to me. We both cried, and Vanechka who was standing there looked frightened. “What's the matter, what's the matter?” he kept asking. “Maman hurt Papa,” I told him, “and now we're making up.” This satisfied him and he said, “Ah!”

A cold windy day. The drawing master came; he asked me to lend him money and I refused, for he is a very bad teacher.

I read an extraordinarily sensitive, intelligent article on
The Kreutzer Sonata
by M. de Vogué. He says, among other things, that Tolstoy had taken his analysis to extremes (“
analyse creusante
”), and that this had killed all the personal and literary life of the work.

Lyovochka is correcting and rewriting his piece ‘On Non-resistance', and Masha is copying it for him. It is hard for him as an
artist
to write these weighty articles, but he cannot do his artistic work now.

 

12th March
. We had a visit from an American from New York who edits a paper called the
New York Herald
. Also a “dark one” named Nikiforov. Nothing but talk, endless talk. I have been informed by the Moscow censors that Volume 13 has been irrevocably banned. I shall go to St Petersburg to appeal. I dread the thought of it. I
am sure I shall achieve nothing, and feel all my faith, strength and happiness are being wasted. But maybe the good Lord will come to my rescue. Snowing, wind and frost—just the weather for a ride in the sledge.

 

13th March
. I went to Tula. More negotiations with the priest. This evening I had a talk with the American. He needs information about Lyovochka for his newspaper, and I was able to help him, although I've learnt my lesson and didn't tell him too much. I had a letter from Countess Alexandra Tolstaya, Alexandrine, who said the Tsar didn't normally receive ladies, but that I should wait a week or ten days for him to reply.*

I am going to Moscow. I shall bring out the 12 volumes with an announcement that Volume 13 has been delayed.* I wish I did not have to move, what a worry this business is! But who else can do it?

Cold, wind, some snow. We all went out in the sledge again.

 

20th March
. I spent the 15th and 16th in Moscow with Lyova, and heard that Volume 13 had been banned in St Petersburg. (In Moscow only
The Kreutzer Sonata
was censored.) I shall have to go to St Petersburg and do all I can to see the Tsar and vindicate Volume 13. In my mind I keep composing speeches and letters to him, thinking endlessly about what I should say. I am only waiting now for Alexandrine's letter telling me whether or not he'll agree to receive me, and if so when. Lyovochka says his mind is asleep and his writing is going badly.

 

21st March
. I have been reading Spinoza and was deeply impressed by two of his arguments, the first about authority and laws: people should respect authority not out of fear of punishment, but because it represents an ideal, something to aspire to and inspire virtue, not just for the individual but for society as a whole. The other argument is about miracles. The uneducated (“
le vulgaire
”) see the hand of God only in what lies
beyond
the laws of nature and probability, and simply don't see God in the whole of Nature and Creation. This is why they expect miracles—i.e. something that lies beyond nature.