The Diaries of Sofia Tolstoy (25 page)

 

17th June
. I dreamt last night that I was lying in a strange bed in a strange room. Sergei Ivanovich comes in and goes straight to the
table without seeing me; on the table is a bundle of torn-up scraps of paper—notes or bills—and he puts on his glasses and hurriedly starts writing on them. I lie there quite still, terrified that he will see me. Then, having covered all the bits of paper with his writing, he bundles them up again, takes off his glasses and leaves the room. I jump out of bed, run to the table, pick up the bits of paper and read. On them is a detailed description of the state of his soul, his struggles and his desires. I am hurriedly reading them when there is a loud knock at the door and I wake up. I hadn't managed to read to the end and was annoyed at being woken up, for I had wanted to sleep on and continue reading—but of course I couldn't.

More proofs, then a swim in the cold river and a solitary walk home in the cold. I thought of our walks to Kozlovka last year. How happy and energetic I was then!

The other difference is that at this very moment, instead of the sweet elegant music Sergei Ivanovich played for us last year, Lev Nikolaevich is banging away on the piano, trying to pick out some chords to accompany Misha on the balalaika—which he plays quite nicely, although I am not particularly fond of these Russian folk songs. I couldn't help making the comparison—and it could hardly be to the advantage of the latter!

Relations with Sasha are no better. She is rude and wilful, and has worn me down by mocking me and insulting my feelings. Lev Nikolaevich went to visit a dying peasant called Konstantin twice today. When we went out for a walk he kept scribbling notes, then he went for a bicycle ride. He is cheerful and well.

 

18th June
. Today is Sasha's 13th birthday. What dreadful memories I have of her birth! I remember we were sitting that evening having our tea—the Kuzminskys were still staying with us, and Mme Seuron the governess was there with her son Alcide (the poor boy later died of cholera)—and we were talking about horses. I said to Lev Nikolaevich that he was always losing money: he bought the most marvellous stud horses from Samara then bred them to death—no pedigree, no money, nothing—and it cost him thousands. It was true of course, but that wasn't the point. He was always finding fault with me when I was pregnant. Because he didn't like the look of me I suppose, and he had been especially irritable with me in the last months. This time however he completely lost his temper with me and said a number of truly terrible things, and putting some things in a linen bag, he said he was leaving for good, possibly for America—and despite my pleading he left.

At that point my labour pains started. I was in agony—and he wasn't there. I went into the garden and sat alone on a bench. The contractions came stronger and stronger—and still he didn't come. My son Lyova came to me, and Alcide, and they both pleaded with me to go in and lie down. But I felt paralysed by grief. Then the midwife came out with my sister and the little girls, who were in tears, and they took my arm, led me upstairs and put me to bed. By that time the contractions were more frequent. At last, at 5 in the morning, he returned.

I went downstairs to him and he glared sullenly at me. “Lyovochka,” I said, “the contractions are very strong—I'm about to give birth. Why are you so angry? If I'm to blame forgive me, for I may not survive this labour…” Still he didn't speak. Suddenly it flashed across my mind that he might be jealous again, or suspicious of something I had done. So I said to him: “It doesn't matter if I live or die, but if I do, I shall die pure in body and spirit. I have never betrayed you, never loved anyone but you…”

He jerked his head and stared at me, but not one kind word did he say to me. I went out of the room, and an hour later Sasha was born.

I gave her straight to the wet nurse. How could I breastfeed my baby when Lev Nikolaevich had handed all the work over to me and I was having to labour both as a woman and as a man?

What an agonizing time that was! It was then that he was undergoing his conversion—to
Christianity
! For this Christianity the
martyrdom
was mine of course, not his.

 

19th June
. I dealt today with the unpleasant business of the felled trees. The poor Grumond peasant came in dressed in rags, throwing himself to the ground and begging my forgiveness. I could have wept, but I felt furious too to have been forced into this position of having to run the estate, which means I have to guard the woods—and now I am responsible for punishing these wretched peasants. I never liked running the estate, I never wanted to, I never knew how to. All I know is that estate management means defending private property against the people, and that is something I am not capable of.

It was decided the matter wouldn't be reported to the village policeman, and that they would keep the trees they had already used for building and would repay us with labour.

Another unpleasantness was a letter from Kholevinskaya, the woman who was exiled to Astrakhan for giving some banned books
to a clerk in Tula, after Tanya had sent her a note asking her to do so. Kholevinskaya is worn out and very bitter, and has begged me to help her.* I cannot think what more I can do, but I should dearly like to get her released.

 

20th June
. Proofs all morning. I worked hard on them all day, and now, joy of joys, I have finished! I have been working on them for six months and today they're done. I just hope they're all right. I went for a swim with Tanya and Maria Vasilevna—the water is 12° and the nights are cold. Lev Nikolaevich went to Tula this evening to send a telegram to Chertkov in England.* Apparently Chertkov has been worrying about Lev Nikolaevich's
feelings
for him. But Lev Nikolaevich simply
loves
him! This evening I played some of Mendelssohn's ‘Songs Without Words', and as I listened to them I remembered how Sergei Ivanovich played them.

Tanya did some copying and played the guitar then the mandolin. Sasha tidied up her room, made jam and arranged flowers. Misha has taken 22 rubles and gone off somewhere. He has been singing at the top of his voice, banging out chords on the piano, walking around in Sasha's dress and doing almost no work.

 

21st June
. I didn't sleep, got up late and sat down at once to work with Sasha. But I saw she was looking very pale and she said she felt sick and had a headache. So that was unfortunately the end of the lesson. Then she vomited and had to lie down. She often gets migraines, like her father. I called Tanya and Maria Vasilevna, and the three of us went for a swim in the Voronka. I cut out a dress, then we had dinner. The Obolenskys came and they all played lawn tennis, while I wandered off on my own to sit in the watchtower talking to Vanechka, then picked a bunch of flowers for his portrait. I started back and saw them all coming in my direction, but I went home alone, sat down at the piano, stretched my fingers and was just about to start playing when Ilyusha arrived. I feel very sorry for him. I know his affairs are going badly, but I really cannot blindly hand money over to the children without having any control over their affairs. I never know what they want it for or where I should draw the line. I have tried not to refuse—but then I realize there is no limit to their demands. I need what money I have now to live on and pay for the new edition—and I don't have enough even for that. Financial matters are the bane of one's life.

Later we took a walk to Grumond; it was a lovely evening and my soul was at peace.

And now I have to write out the menu for dinner:
soupe printanière—
oh, how I've grown to loathe
soupe printanière
! For 35 years, day in day out, it's been
soupe printanière…
I don't want to have to write
soupe printanière
ever again, I want to listen to the most difficult fugue or symphony, to the most complicated musical harmonies, to strive with all my soul to understand the composer's private complicated musical language, and what he experienced in the depths of his being when he was composing them…

Misha and Ilya have been banging out chords on the guitar and the piano, bawling Russian folk songs at the top of their voices. I would dearly love not to have to listen to this ugly banging and to hear once again those elegant sounds that brought me back to life last summer. Yes, that was a true joy. I thank my good fortune for the memories.

 

22nd June
. A lovely bright summer day. This morning I played scales, studies and exercises on the piano. Then we went swimming. Ilya and Kolya Lopukhin stayed for dinner, and afterwards I played the piano again for an hour. After tea all of us women went for a walk. Sasha grumbled at me for calling her away from the tennis court, even though she was only watching.

Tanya ran to catch us up and I was so pleased to see her. “You know mother,” she said, “I'm growing closer and closer to you all the time—I shall soon become a baby again and start sucking at your breast!” Yes, I am growing more and more attached to her too. I didn't give Ilya the money. He said a great many cruel things to me: it made no difference that Lev Nikolaevich had made over the property to me by deed of purchase rather than for life, he said, I would start hoarding money in my old age…and much more besides. My God! Is there nothing more to my relations with my elder sons than money, money, money? And Andryusha is the same—it's nothing but give me money, give me money! It's frightful!

 

23rd June
. The beauty of nature has stirred my soul, driven out the pain that was lodged there and filled it with light.

 

24th June
. A letter from Mikhail Sukhotin—his wife has died. Both Lev Nikolaevich and I are extremely distressed by Tanya's relations with him and their correspondence.

 

25th June
. I didn't sleep last night; I was so feverish I felt I was in a steam bath. It's a very difficult time for me physically. I am reading
a disgusting French book that I found lying around. I picked it up and was horrified by its lewd contents. The title was bad enough
—Aphrodite
.* What debauched people the French are! And yet reading it does give one a true assessment of a woman's physical beauty—and of my own too.

The greatest happiness a beautiful woman can hope for, however, is to live her whole life until she is old in complete ignorance of her beauty and her body, for then she will remain morally pure and fresh. Books like this would be her ruin.

 

26th June
. Heat, haymaking, I have a bad headache.

After dinner I played the piano with our English music teacher Miss Welsh; I'm going to learn Beethoven's E-flat Major Sonata. It's a pleasure to work with her. Tanya and Sasha have gone to Tula. Seryozha has arrived, and tomorrow Sasha and I will visit him and Ilya. I spent the evening copying for Lev Nikolaevich. I've seen almost nothing of him, as usual. He rode his bicycle to Tula to be mended, walked back part of the way and was taken the rest of the way in some carts that were going in his direction.

 

30th June
. Sasha and I returned yesterday evening from visiting Seryozha and Ilya. It was Seryozha's birthday on the 28th, and I wanted to spend it with him and make at least that day a little less lonely for him. His confused runaway wife, who is now expecting his child, hasn't an ounce of pity in her icy heart for her poor husband who never did her any harm. Ilya and his way of life I found utterly depressing: four lovely children (Misha especially), and what ideas does he put into their heads apart from horses, dogs, whether or not the hounds were in good voice, and whether or not they hunted down old Velvet? Then he goes off drinking at every opportunity with the most unspeakable characters—and that's all he ever does! If he doesn't change, his children will turn out very badly indeed. Sonya, his wife, vaguely senses this, and I feel very sorry for her. She does all she can to make things better and works hard at it too—but he is no help to her, and she simply isn't up to managing the house and the children's education all on her own.

At Nikolskoe with Seryozha we went for a lovely walk through some picturesque places. Guests came. Seryozha and I had a discussion about musical theory. On the train back I read a frightful book by Prévost, called
Les Demi-vierges
;* I felt ashamed and physically disgusted, as I always do when I read a dirty book. Love without purity is a terrible
thing, yet even the noblest love is inevitably reduced to the same desire for possession and intimacy. What is so disgusting in this French book isn't the woman's fall, it's her life of semi-debauchery: she doesn't actually take the final step, but she does everything but, and that's even worse.

At home I found that Misha had a bad attack of dysentery and there was no one to look after him, since Masha was busy with her young husband and Tanya had gone off. As for his father, well my children haven't had a father for a long time.

Lev Nikolaevich himself was rude and unwelcoming when I got back, and I was mortified to realize yet again how uninterested he is in me and my life when I am sitting at home with the family and seeing no one.

 

2nd July
. I was sitting in my room copying his article when Misha rushed in terrified and said: “Papa is screaming and groaning with pain!” I ran downstairs. He was sitting in his chair, bent double and groaning, with the sweat pouring off him. I at once got him into a clean shirt, then Masha, Misha and I got busy with linseed poultices, soda water and rhubarb. But it didn't do him any good; the medicines made him vomit, and the vomiting induced excruciating pains. He didn't sleep all night, the pain got no better, and that night I feared for his life. And I thought how dreadfully lonely I would be without him. For although I suffer because his love for me is purely physical, not emotional, he is a part of my life and I couldn't live without him. He stroked my hair when I was changing his poultice today, and when I finished he kissed my hands, then followed me round the room with his eyes while I tidied up for him.