The Diaries of Sofia Tolstoy (19 page)

“It is indeed true, Your Majesty, and it is very sad. But what can we do?”

Then she asked me how many children I had and what they all did. I said I was happy to hear that her son, Georgy Alexandrovich, was better, and told her I had suffered for her, knowing how hard it must have been for her to be separated from her two sons when one of them was so ill. She said he was fully recovered now; he had pneumonia, the illness had been neglected, he hadn't looked after himself properly and she had been extremely worried. I expressed my regret that I had never met any of her children, and the Empress replied that they were all in Gatchina at present.

She stood up, gave me her hand and warmly took her leave of me.

Tanya and the younger children welcomed me home. Lyovochka had gone to Chepyzh and then out to the park to wait for me. I got back before him though, and it was a long time before he returned. He was displeased about my adventure and my meeting with the Tsar.
He said we had now taken on all sorts of responsibilities we couldn't possibly fulfil. He and the Tsar had managed to ignore each other up to now, he said; all this could do us a lot of damage, and might well have disagreeable consequences.*

 

23rd April
. Why is one's
own
family so much more severe on one than others? How sad it is, how sad that they should spoil one's life and relationships like this. It was a cold fine day. Tanya has just gone past my door and told me Lyovochka asked her to tell me he had lain down and put out the candle.

 

24th April
. I went out for a little walk in the garden with the children, and, just by the lower pond, on the very spot where yesterday I planted all the oaks and firs, I saw a whole herd of village cows. Some village woman and girls were calmly tending them, until I let out a loud scream. I was furious about my little trees and my wasted labours. I then went to Vasily and told him to drive away any cows that got into the estate. The village people are very hard to deal with, for they have been spoilt by Lyovochka. When we got home I ran a bath for Vanechka, bathed him myself and put him to bed. Then I copied out Lyovochka's diaries. It is now 11 o'clock. The wind is howling outside and I am afraid for anyone out in it. I sent the carriage to Kozlovka to fetch Lyovochka, but he will barely make it to Tula and catch the train. It was so cold he was glad of his fur jacket.

 

29th April
. I haven't written my diary for several days. The evening before last I had another asthma attack. I felt as though something was blocking my chest, and had dreadful palpitations and giddiness. I threw myself at Nurse and said: “I am dying!” Then I kissed Vanechka and ran downstairs to Lyovochka to take leave of him before I died. Physically I was terrified, but not mentally. Lyovochka wasn't there, so I crossed myself and waited for death to come, unable to breathe. Then I went back to my room. On the way I managed to ask for some mustard for my chest and a pulverizer, and when I lay down and inhaled the steam I began to feel better. But even now my chest feels heavy, and I don't think I have long to live. I have overstrained myself and broken something; I've used up my allotted share of energy—it's all too much for me at my age.

The day before yesterday I wrote a letter to the Minister of Internal Affairs, asking him to remind the Tsar that he had given me his personal permission to publish
The Kreutzer Sonata
in the
Complete
Collected Works
. We had a wretched letter from Lyova, saying he didn't want to take his exams and was leaving the university.* Both Lyovochka and I wrote advising him not to abandon his university studies until he has clearly decided what he wants to do when he leaves. I don't expect he will take any notice though. Let him do what he thinks is best, the main thing is for us to support him. Tanya is going to Moscow the day after tomorrow. I have been sitting at home ill for the past three days, but outside it is already quite green. The grass and the leaves are coming out, and the nightingales are singing.

 

1st May
. Tanya left for Moscow this morning. Ilya arrived and went to Tula to see about the division of the property. Davydov came for dinner with his daughter and Prince Lvov. I find them both very pleasant, and the day would have passed most enjoyably had I not been unwell. I have catarrh in my respiratory passages, am feverish at night and feel very sluggish.

I copied Lyovochka's diary. After dinner we all went for a walk, and afterwards I played Mendelssohn's
Lieder ohne Worte
and a Beethoven sonata for two hours. It annoys me that I play so badly, I wish I could take lessons and learn properly. Over tea we had a discussion about education. I don't want to send my children to the gymnasium, yet I see no alternative. I don't know what to do for the best. I cannot educate them on my own, and Lyovochka is very good at
talking
, but when it comes to
acting
he never does a thing. It is warmer, and everyone keeps bringing bright fresh violets into the house. We have been eating morels, the nightingale is singing and everything is slowly coming into leaf.

 

15th May
. Again, I haven't written my diary for a long time, and again a lot has happened. On the 2nd or 3rd of May, we had a visit from Princess Urusova (née Maltseva) with her two elder daughters, Mary and Ira. Their presence reminded me painfully of the late Prince himself and I couldn't get him out of my mind. Mary is strikingly like him, and played a Beethoven sonata so well as to leave us in no doubt about her exceptional musical ability. The Princess has changed very much for the better, is more resigned, and full of remorse. I don't know why she is always telling me of the exceptional love her husband felt for me. This time she told me in grave and earnest tones that he had loved me even more than he loved Lyovochka, and that it was I who had given him all the things that she, his wife, should have given him
—true family happiness, sympathy, friendship, affection and concern. I told her she was quite wrong to imagine her husband had loved me, he had never told me so, and we had never been anything more than very good friends.

We spent three happy days together and parted on friendly terms.

They left for the Crimea, and I got a letter from my daughter Tanya summoning me to Moscow to make arrangements for Andryusha and Misha to take their exams. On the 6th the boys, their tutor Alexei Mitrofanovich and I set off for Moscow by express train. It was very hot, and I sat knitting while the children went into the other compartments making friends with the passengers, who gave them things to eat. We arrived at Khamovniki Street that evening, and I went off immediately to see Polivanov and make enquiries about the exams. Andryusha was so nervous he couldn't sleep, but Misha, unperturbed, went to sleep at once. The first exam, on religious knowledge, went well—at any rate they became less nervous. We stayed five days in the apartment, and spent every moment of our free time in our wonderful garden. The boys did badly in their exams. I am not sure of the reason for this—whether it's bad teachers or their poor abilities. Andryusha was accepted into the 3rd form and Misha into the 2nd. But I still cannot decide whether to send them to the gymnasium. I feel so sorry for them and so afraid of what will happen to them there—yet I see no alternative. I am leaving it for fate to decide. How different the two boys are! Andryusha is nervous, shy and cautious. Misha is excitable, talkative and loves the good things of life.

We went to a French exhibition, but it wasn't ready, and apart from a dazzling fountain the only things we saw were some bronzes and porcelain.

Driving past the Kremlin, I saw an enormous number of carriages at the Small Palace. Grand Duke Sergei Alexandrovich has just been appointed Governor General of Moscow and has been receiving the whole city.

The censors are still refusing to release Volume 13 and are cavilling at three passages, which go approximately: “From the Eiffel Tower to universal conscription…”, “When all the European nations were busy teaching their young people how to murder…” and “Everything is managed by people who are half drunk.” But these phrases had already appeared in the same article, which was published in the form of a prologue to Alexeev's book
On Drunkenness
.* I wrote to the Moscow censor informing him of this, and also to Feoktistov in
St Petersburg. A letter arrived for me in Yasnaya from the Minister while I was away, announcing that he had given permission for
The Kreutzer Sonata
and the ‘Epilogue' to be published in the
Complete Works
. In Moscow I learnt of this at the press where it was printed. I cannot help secretly exulting in my success in overcoming all the obstacles, that I managed to obtain an interview with the Tsar, and that I, a woman, have achieved something nobody else could have done! It was undoubtedly my own personal influence that played a major part in this. As I was telling people before, I needed just one moment of inspiration to sway the Tsar's judgement as a human being and capture his sympathy, and the inspiration came, and I did influence his will—although he is a kind man anyway, and obviously quite capable of yielding to the correct influence. Anybody who read this and thought I was boasting would be wrong and unjust.

Volume 13 will come out any day now, and I should dearly love to send the Tsar a copy, enclosing a group photograph of my family, in whom he showed so much interest. Both he and the Tsarina asked in great detail after all my children.

Spring fills the air. The apple trees are covered in flowers—there is something mad and magical about these blossoms, I've never seen anything like it. Every time one looks out of the window one sees an amazing airy cloud of white, pink-fringed flowers, set against a bright green background.

The weather is hot and dry. Bunches of lilies of the valley fill the room with their intoxicating scent.

Poor Lyovochka has inflamed eyelids and has been sitting alone in a darkened room for the past two days. He was a bit better today. Yesterday I sent for Doctor Rudnyov, and he prescribed bathing the eyes in Goulard water, which he sent us. Yesterday Lyovochka dictated to Masha a letter on religious matters for Alekhin (a dark one), and I was amazed by how good it was and how totally it corresponded to my own feelings. It dealt with questions of immortality and the after-life: we should not worry about such things, he said, once we had placed ourselves in God's hands and said, “Thy Will Be Done!” We can never answer these questions anyway, however much we may worry about them.

 

22nd May
. Another busy week has passed. The Kuzminskys came, and Masha's fiancé, Erdeli. The usual summer activities—swimming, lounging in the heat, admiring the beauty of the countryside, crowds of noisy, jostling children with nothing to do. Fet was here with his
wife and read us some of his poems—nothing but love, love, love. He was in raptures over everything here at Yasnaya Polyana, and seemed well pleased with his visit and with Lyovochka and me. He is 70 years old, but his lyrics are ageless, lively and melodious, and they always arouse in me suspiciously youthful poetic feelings. Yet they are so good and innocent and always remain in the realms of abstraction—what if these feelings
are
inappropriate?

My Masha went off with the Filosofov girls to stay with them at Paniki. Let her enjoy herself, poor girl, she's only 20 but so serious and old for her age. We went out for a walk, but it started to rain and one by one we all made our way back to the house. Instead of reading, we spent a most interesting evening talking about novels, love, art and painting. Lyovochka said there was nothing more horrible than those paintings that depict lust in everyday situations, like the one of the monk looking at the woman, or the Tartar and the lady riding off on horseback together to the Crimea, or the father-in-law casting lascivious glances at the young bride. All this is bad enough in real life, he said, but in a painting you have to look at this filth
all the time
. I completely agree with him. I only like paintings that depict beauty, nature and lofty ideals.

Today is Ilya's birthday. The poor fellow lives in such a muddled and senseless fashion, preoccupied with his household, his family and his doubts, and permanently dissatisfied with his fate. It is sad that these disagreements over property have put a strain on our relations.

 

27th May
. Very cold and cloudy. There has been a strong north wind for the past three days so we all stayed indoors. Vasya Kuzminsky fired at Sasha's eye with his toy pistol and left a red bruise. Vanechka had a stomach ache last night and didn't sleep. I got up at 3 a.m. to be with him and didn't get back to sleep myself until 5. The lilacs and lilies of the valley are over now. Vanechka and Nurse brought some night violets into the house, and the white mushrooms are out. It's very dry and the grass is withering. Raevsky was saying there was a drought in the Epifania district. We had a letter from Masha. She is evidently enjoying herself at the Filosofovs, which I am happy about.

 

1st June
. Endless guests. First our friend Annenkova's husband, a landowner, much preoccupied with legal affairs, and an odd, vulgar sort of man, although said to be infinitely kind and sensitive. He
brought with him a man called Nelyubov, a thin dark idealist full of ecstasy and gloom, and the magistrate of Lgov, their county capital. Then Suvorin, editor of
New Times
, came for the evening. He struck me as a shy man, interested in everything. He asked whether he might bring with him or send along a Jewish sculptor from Paris,* to do a full-length sculpture of Lev Nikolaevich. I begged him to send him here, although Lyovochka said nothing as usual. I am sure he would like it. Yesterday P.F. Samarin was here, as well as Davydov and General Bestuzhev. Lyovochka walked to Tula to inspect the abattoir, but they weren't slaughtering anything so he just looked round. Everybody is terribly interested to hear about my visit to the Tsar. Yet nobody knows my real motive for visiting St Petersburg. It was all because of
The Kreutzer Sonata
. That story cast a shadow over my life. Some people suspected it was based on me, others felt sorry for me. Even the Tsar said: “I feel sorry for his poor wife.” Uncle Kostya told me when I was in Moscow that I had become “
une victime
”, and everyone pitied me. So I wanted to show that I wasn't a victim at all; I wanted people to say my visit to St Petersburg was something I had done instinctively. I knew in advance that I would be successful and prevail upon the Emperor, for I haven't yet lost my powers of winning people's sympathy; and I certainly made an impression on him, with my words and my demeanour. But it was also for the sake of the public that I had to vindicate the story. Everyone now knows that I
pleaded with the Tsar
for it. If that story had been about me and my relations with Lyovochka, I would hardly have begged him to let it be published. Everyone will see this now. I have had various reports of the Tsar's flattering comments about me. He told Countess Sheremeteva he was sorry he had had urgent work to attend to that day and was unable to spend longer with me, as he found our discussion so interesting and enjoyable, and he hadn't realized I was still so young and pretty. All this flatters my female vanity, and avenges me for all the years in which my husband not only failed to promote me in society, but actually did his utmost to drag me down. I can never understand why.