The Diaries of Sofia Tolstoy (29 page)

I strain every last drop of my energy to help him and I copy out his article; yesterday I copied his 15-page letter calling for the Nobel Prize to be awarded to the Dukhobors. But at times I find it intolerable to have no work, no friends or interests of my own, no free time, no music, and I lose hope and lapse into depression.

Lev Nikolaevich is forever writing and preaching about universal love and serving God and the people, but it puzzles me to hear him say
these things. He lives his entire life, from morning to night, without any sort of contact with others. He gets up in the morning, drinks coffee, goes for a walk or a swim without seeing anyone, then sits down to write; later he goes for a bicycle ride or another swim, eats dinner, plays a game of lawn tennis, goes downstairs to read, and spends the whole of the afternoon sitting in his study. It's only after supper that he comes and sits with us for a while, reading newspapers or looking through the illustrated magazines. And so this ordered selfish life goes on, day after day, without love, without any interest in his family or the joys and griefs of those closest to him. His coldness is a torture to me, and I have started to seek other things to fill my inner life, and have learnt to love music, to read into it and discern the complicated human emotions contained in it. But not only is music disapproved of in this house, I am bitterly criticized for it, so once again I feel that my life has no purpose, and bowing my back I copy out his dull essay on art for the tenth time, trying to find some consolation in doing my
duty
. But my lively nature resents it and I long for a life of my own, and when there's an icy wind blowing I rush out of the house, run through the forest to the Voronka and throw myself into the freezing water, and there's some pleasure in the physical sensation.

And the sweetest dream of all is of the heavenly kingdom awaiting us after we die, the dream of being united with God and reunited with our loved ones.

Ah, Vanechka! Today I came across a scrap of cloth from his blue sailor jacket, and I wept bitterly. Why did he leave me alone on earth without love? I cannot live without him—I often feel as though he took my soul with him, and my sinful body is merely dragging out its life here on earth.

 

8th September
. A lot of commotion and a new crowd of guests: Dunaev, Boulanger and an Englishman named St John, evidently sent here by Chertkov.* Boulanger is being deported, charged with dangerous activities—propagating Lev Nikolaevich's ideas and writing and publishing a letter in the
Stock Exchange Gazette
about the wretched condition of the Dukhobors.* He was summoned to St Petersburg to the 3rd Department (in other words the police), which is responsible for administrative order (in other words administrative tyranny), and they reprimanded him.

Now Boulanger is a very clever man, lively and full of energy, and they were quite daunted by him. But Heavens, what a despotic
government we have! It's as though we had no Tsar at all, just a lot of ignorant blackguards like Pobedonostsev and Goremykin (Minister of Home Affairs), who behave in such a way as to bring down people's wrath on the head of the young Tsar, which is a great pity. Lev Nikolaevich is plagued by a pimple on his cheek and keeps talking about death. I feel quite alarmed, he has a terror of dying. He is coming to the end of his essay
On Art
, and we have a young lady staying here who is copying it out on the Remington; they want to send an English translation to Chertkov in England so he can publish it there.

 

12th September
. I've been in Moscow for 2 days, alone with Nurse, and am thoroughly enjoying myself. Misha goes to the Lycée and comes home only for dinner, Tanya is staying with the Wulfs and I see hardly anything of her. I spend the mornings at the dentist, who measures my mouth and tortures me with hot red mastic and various other nasty things. The painful moment has come when I need false teeth—another one in the front has fallen out now and the ugliness and inconvenience are unbearable. I am going to find my false teeth a real trial, I can see that. The main reason I like it here is that there are none of those tiresome guests and strangers who are constantly coming to visit Lev Nikolaevich in Yasnaya, none of those complicated family and conjugal relations, no conversations about the Dukhobors and the government, about sending articles and letters abroad to expose the activities of the government, no reproaches and criticism…How tired I am of it all and how badly I need a rest! I played the piano this afternoon, and scribbled down some notes for a story I want to write. I've had no news from home yet. I still haven't seen anyone here, but I very much want to see Sergei Ivanovich and hear him play. I hope he'll come on my name day and play for me.

 

14th September
. I went to the dentist again yesterday, and spent the rest of the day reading and sewing at home. I played the piano this afternoon; I am learning two pieces, a Bach two-part invention and a Beethoven sonata. I play badly and must practise a lot. We spent the evening talking and dancing with the children and young folk. I danced a waltz with my brother Sasha, and was foolishly delighted when they told me how gracefully I moved.

Today was a very busy day. I hurried out first thing with my basket and took a tram to the Smolensk market to buy mushrooms. There was an enormous quantity of them. I bought some to give Tanya to
take back to Yasnaya Polyana, where these white mushrooms are not to be found. I also bought some grapes. I took everything round to the Wulfs', where Tanya has been staying, then summoned a cab and went with Nurse to visit the graves of Vanechka and Alyosha. Their little graves always fill me with sweet, tormenting memories and a grief that will never heal.

I longed to die, to be borne off into the unknown where my little boys had gone. Nurse sobbed while I recited the Lord's Prayer, striving to unite my soul with my infants and asking them to pray for us wretched sinners, then I fled from my grief.

Wanting to please Nurse, I took her and the village girls to look for mushrooms in the woods, but we didn't find any. I arrived home for dinner to find a crowd of boys who had come to see Misha: Mitya Dyakov and the Danilevskys. After dinner Nurse and I made jam and pickled mushrooms. We finished late, and I spent the rest of the evening playing the piano; I sight-read some songs by Taneev, Pomerantsev and Goldenweiser. Taneev called here today, but I was out. I was so excited when I heard he had called; I long to see him, but I don't see how it's to be done. God will help me; maybe I won't see him—whatever is best.

I have heard nothing from home. Lev Nikolaevich hasn't written and Lyova doesn't mention him in his letter, just asks me to do some errands for him.

 

15th September
. I got up late and scurried round the house all day. The double windows had to be put in, the floors and doors washed, the mattresses and upholstery beaten, the mushrooms and grapes pickled, etc., etc. At about 8 in the evening Sergei Ivanovich arrived, and the two of us spent the evening alone together. It is very sad that Lev Nikolaevich should persecute me for knowing him, for we have such a good, calm, profound friendship. We talked all evening about art, music, Lev Nikolaevich's writing—Taneev is so fond of him—of how we would spend the summer, and the boundless hopes of youth. He played me his beautiful symphony, which affected me deeply. It's a marvellous work, lofty, noble music.

 

17th September
. My name day, I've been foolishly busy all day. I rearranged the furniture, bought some inexpensive flowers, and tidied and decorated the house like a child getting ready for a holiday. I remember how my darling Vanechka loved to “celebrate”, as he used to say. I received a letter from Sasha, which delighted me. Lyovochka
still hasn't written, as if he was deliberately ignoring me, and it hurts me. Today the house is in a real “name-day mood” I cooked a meal for the servants too, which they appreciated, with pie, goose, tea and biscuits. Uncle Kostya, Alexei Maklakov, S.I. Taneev, Pomerantsev and Kursinsky came this evening, followed by various friends of Misha's—Golitsyn, Butyonev, Dyakov, the Danilevskys, Lopukhin—who all sang, jumped around, fought, ate and drank. Uncle Kostya begged Sergei Ivanovich to play, and he played his symphony again. Sergei Ivanovich's music has a quality one finds in certain people: the better you know it the more you love it. I have listened to this work three times now, and discover new beauty in it every time.

 

18th September
. I got up late, sat down to play the piano and diligently practised the Bach two-part invention. When the rain stopped I left the house to visit the dentist and the Gubner factory for some fustian. And totally unexpectedly I met Sergei Ivanovich in the street! I didn't recognize him at first, and was amazed. Fate is always playing these tricks on me! He was on his way to the Monastery of the Virgin. We got into conversation and I accompanied him to the tram stop. I didn't get to the factory, but arrived in good time at the dentist's, who seems to have done a splendid job on my teeth. I shouldn't have told Sergei Ivanovich about the time I tried to kill myself by freezing to death on the Sparrow Hills. (I spared him the causes and details of course.) It's just that these agonizing memories make me need to talk about them.

I got home, had dinner with Misha, then practised the piano for four hours, by which time I was exhausted.

 

19th September
. A talented man puts all his understanding, all the sensitivity of his soul, into his work, while his attitude to real life is obtuse and indifferent. I immersed myself yesterday in Sergei Ivanovich's songs, trying to understand them more deeply. (I now have so many of them.) The music corresponds not only to the mood of the poem but to almost every word too (so powerful in places), yet in real life he is so calm and reserved, never expressing his feelings, seldom speaking his thoughts, appearing indifferent to everyone and everything. And as for my incomparably more gifted husband! What extraordinary understanding of people's psychology in his writings, and what incomprehension and indifference to the lives of those closest to him! Me, the children, the servants, his friends—he doesn't know or understand them.

22nd September
. I am back at Yasnaya Polyana, and have left Misha in Moscow with Nurse and Ivan the drunkard. I am sorry to have ended my solitary life where I could play the piano, and to have returned to the hectic existence Lev Nikolaevich has organized for me here. We had a visit from some Molokans* whose children were taken away from them because of their sectarian beliefs. Lev Nikolaevich wrote to the young Tsar about it, but has had no response. He has written again, but fortunately the Tsar is abroad and the letter will probably not reach him. I would do anything in the world to console the mothers and their children, but what is the point of risking one's life when it's
impossible
to do
anything
. He is always seeking noise, publicity, risk. I simply don't believe in his goodness and love of humanity, for I know what is at the bottom of it all—fame, the insatiable, frantic desire for yet more fame. How can one believe in his love, when he doesn't love his own children, his grandchildren, his
family
, but has suddenly developed this great love for the Molokans' children? He has a boil on his cheek and his face is tied up in a handkerchief. He looks wretched, and is terribly worried about it.

He paid two visits to the doctor while I was away, and the third time he asked him to call. He kept insisting he had cancer and would soon die, and was very depressed and couldn't sleep. He is better now. Poor man, how he hates suffering, and how hard it will be for him to leave this life. God help him!

 

26th September
. The days rush past. The 23rd was our wedding anniversary, and we spent it very pleasantly, although we didn't arrange any special celebration. We have been married 35 years, and however hard my life has been at times, I thank God that we have remained faithful to each other and now live peacefully, even affectionately, together. My two eldest sons came, and all the family were together except Misha, who has now arrived, I am pleased to say. Our guests included Sergeenko and Boulanger with his 9-year-old son. Boulanger is leaving for England on the 28th; he is being deported for spreading the ideas of Tolstoy.

Lev Nikolaevich has already written the conclusion to his essay on art and has made yet more changes to it, so I shall copy it again, and I have just finished copying his letter to the
Russian Gazette
. Various papers have published articles saying it is unthinkable that the Molokans' children should be taken from them. But since this has in fact happened, and the parents have been visiting Lev Nikolaevich
to ask him to take up their cause, he has decided to publicize the whole story in the
Russian Gazette
. Whether they publish it or not is another matter.

My niece Liza Obolenskaya arrived last night and today we went for a walk with her. How beautiful it was! We walked through the fir plantation to the river, came out at the bathing hut, and walked through the great fir trees, returning home along the forest path. The bright-yellow tints, shading into green, red, dark brown and all the colours of the autumn foliage, were extraordinarily lovely. A few young birch trees have grown up here and there among the tall firs, and their brilliant leaves are etched against the black background like lace.

On the way home I told Liza about my friendship with Sergei Ivanovich and Lev Nikolaevich's jealousy of my feelings for him. It upset me to talk about it, and there were yet more trying discussions at home with Masha about her future, and the fact that they are planning to live with Kolya's mother in Pokrovskoe. I told her I didn't approve, and said he should go out and earn his own living or enter government service, rather than living first off her mother, then his.