The Diaries of Sofia Tolstoy (57 page)

March—Tolstoy ill again. Chertkov expelled from his estate for “subversive activities” and moves to Kryokshino, near Moscow. October—Chertkov and Sasha Tolstaya prevail upon Tolstoy secretly to draw up a new will bequeathing all his post-1881 works to Tanya, Sasha and Sergei Tolstoy, making Chertkov sole heir to his literary estate. Sofia driven nearly mad by suspicion
.

 

14th January
. Today I resumed my old work—copying out a new fictional work Lev Nikolaevich has just completed.*

The subject is revolutionaries, punishments and where all this springs from. It may be interesting. But it's still the same old themes, and the same old descriptions of peasant life. He relishes that peasant girl with her strong female body and her sunburnt legs, she allures him just as powerfully now as she did all those years ago: the same Axinya with the flashing eyes, almost unrecognizable at the age of eighty, has risen from the depths of his past. Axinya was a Yasnaya peasant girl, Lev Nikolaevich's last mistress before his marriage, and she still lives in the village. He didn't want to give it to me to copy at first, and if he had slightly more sensitivity he wouldn't have called his peasant heroine Axinya. Then there is his peasant hero, who is meant to be sympathetic, with his smile and his accordion, who becomes a revolutionary. Maybe I shall change my mind, but so far I don't like it at all.

Wanda Landowska came today and performed for us.* She played a Chopin Mazurka and a Mozart sonata to perfection, bending low over the keys as if forcing them to reveal the meaning of the music to her. The refinement and expressiveness of her playing were taken to the very extremes of beauty. Apart from our family, the Chertkovs, father and son, were here, and my daughter-in-law Olga.

Furious arguments between the Tolstoys over possession of his diaries and the copyright to his works. January—Tolstoy writes ‘On Suicide' (later titled ‘On Madness'). Summer—Tolstoy rewrites his will, leaving everything to his daughter Tanya, should Sasha die before him, and giving Chertkov sole power to change or publish anything after his death. His sons Andrei and Sergei contemplate certifying him as insane to invalidate his will. July—Tolstoy calls in a psychiatrist to examine Sofia. Diagnosis: paranoia and hysteria. A mounting crescendo of reproaches and recriminations. 28th October—Tolstoy leaves home with his daughter Sasha and his doctor. 7th November—Tolstoy dies at Astapovo station. His death triggers student riots across Russia
.

 

26th June
. Lev Nikolaevich, my husband, has given all his diaries since the year 1900 to Chertkov, and has started writing a new diary at Chertkov's house, where he has been staying since 12th June. In this diary, which he started at Chertkov's and gave me to read, he says amongst other things: “I must try to
fight
Sonya with love and kindness.” Fight?! What is there to fight, when I love him so passionately, when my one concern is that he should be happy? But to Chertkov, and to future generations who will read his diaries, he must present himself as unhappy and magnanimous, “fighting” some imaginary evil.

My life with Lev Nik. becomes more intolerable each day because of his heartlessness and cruelty to me. And it is Chertkov who has brought all this about, gradually and consistently. He has done everything in his power to take control of this unfortunate old man, he has separated us, he has killed the creative spark in L.N. and has kindled all the protest, castigation and hatred that one sees in these recent articles, which his stupid evil genius has reduced him to writing.

Yes, if one believes in the Devil, he has been embodied in Chertkov, and he has destroyed our life.

I have been ill these past few days. I am tired and depressed by life, and exhausted by my endless tasks; I live alone, without help, without
love, and I pray for death—it is probably not too far off now. Lev Nikol. is an intelligent man, he knows the best way to get rid of me, and with the help of Chertkov he has been killing me gradually; soon it will be all over for me.

I fell ill all of a sudden. I was lying here on my own, as Lev Nikol., Sasha and the whole retinue—his doctor, secretary and servant—had left for Meshcherskoe to see the Chertkovs. For the sake of Sasha's health (she has been ill), I was obliged to paint the house and repair the floors. I hired some workmen, and with the help of good Varvara Mikhailovna I moved out all the furniture, pictures and so on. There were also a lot of proofs to read, and things to attend to on the estate. All this exhausted me, and by that evening I was feeling very bad indeed. The spasms in my heart, my aching head and unbearable feelings of despair were making me shudder all over; my teeth were chattering, I was choking and sobbing, I thought I was dying. I was terrified, and in a desperate attempt to save myself I naturally threw myself on the mercy of the man I love, and sent him a telegram: “Implore you to come tomorrow, 23rd.” But on the morning of the 23rd, instead of taking the 11 a.m. train and coming to my help, he sent a telegram saying: “More
convenient
return morning 24th. If necessary will take night train.”

I detected the cold style of the hard-hearted despot Chertkov in that “more convenient”. My despair, my nervous anguish and the pains in my head and heart reached the limits of endurance.

The violinist Erdenko and his wife had come to visit the Chertkovs that day, and Chertkov had urged Lev Nikol. that it would be tactless to leave. And L.N. was only too happy to spend one more day with his beloved idol.

On the evening of the 23rd he returned, with his hangers-on, in a disgruntled, unfriendly mood. For while I regard
Chertkov
as having come between
us
, both Lev Nik. and Chertkov regard
me
as having come between
them
.

We had a painful talk, and I said everything on my mind. Lev Nik. sat on a stool looking hunched and wretched, and said almost nothing. Then a wild beast suddenly leapt out of him, his eyes blazed with rage, and he said something so cutting that at that moment I hated him and said: “Ah, so that is what you are really like!” He grew quiet immediately.

The next morning my undying love for him got the better of me, and when he came into the room I threw myself into his arms asking him to forgive me and take pity on me; he embraced me and wept,
and we both decided that henceforth everything would be different, and we would love and cherish each other. I wonder how long this will last.

Today I read Lev Nik.'s diary that he gave me, and was again chilled and shocked to learn that he had given Chertkov
all
his diaries since 1900 so that he could copy out extracts from them for his future advantage. Lev Nik. has always deliberately represented me in his diaries—as he does now—as his tormentor, someone he has to fight and not succumb to, while himself he presents as a great and magnanimous man, religious and loving…

I must try to reach a higher spiritual plane, and see how petty are Chertkov's intrigues and L.N.'s attempts to destroy me, in the face of death and eternity…

 

Evening
. Yet another conversation, yet more anguish and heartache. No, it's impossible, I must kill myself. When I asked Lev Nik. why he wanted to fight me, he replied: “Because you and I are in constant disagreement, about the land question, the religious questions, everything.” “But the land isn't mine,” I say. “I consider it belongs to all of us, to the family.” “Well, you could give away
your
land,” he says. “But why aren't you bothered by Chertkov's million rubles and all his land?” I ask. “Oh, I'm not going to talk to you any more, leave me alone!…” First he shouted, then he withdrew into angry silence.

At first, when I asked him where his diaries since 1900 were, he mumbled something and admitted Chertkov had them. Then I asked him again: “So where are your diaries? Are they with Chertkov? What if his house is searched and they're taken?” “He has taken all the necessary measures. They are in the bank,” he replied. “Which bank? Where?” “Why do you want to know?” “Because I am your wife, the person closest to you.” “Chertkov is the person closest to me, and I don't know where my diaries are. Anyway, what does it matter?”

Everything is a plot against me, and it will end only with the death of this poor old man, who has been lead astray by the devil Chertkov.

Just before he left to visit Chertkov the other day, he was angrily criticizing the life we led, and when I asked: “But what is to be done?” he cried out indignantly: “Leave here, abandon everything, not live in Yasnaya Polyana, not see the beggars, the Circassian guard, the servants waiting at table, the petitioners, the visitors—it's all loathsome to me!”

“Where can we old people go then?” I asked. “I'll go with you wherever you want—Paris, Yalta, Odoev.”

I listened to his angry words, then took 30 rubles and went out, intending to go to Odoev and settle there.

It was terribly hot. I ran to the highway, gasping with agitation and exhaustion, and lay down in a ditch by the side of the road, beside a field of rye. Then I heard the coachman approach in the cabriolet, and I climbed in, defeated, and returned home. Lev Nikolaevich had been having palpitations while I was away. What was to be done? Where could we go? What should we decide?

So now I have returned home, back to the old life and its burdens. My husband keeps a sullen silence, and there are the proofs, the painters, the bailiff, the guests and the housekeeping…I am answerable to everyone, I have to satisfy everyone…

This evening, pacing the avenue in the park for the tenth time, I made up my mind: without any arguments or discussions I would abandon all my old responsibilities, my old life, and rent a small corner in someone's hut and settle there, a poor old woman living in a hut with some children whom I would love. That is what I must try to do.

But when I told Lev Nikolaevich that not only was I ready to adopt a more simple life with him, I regarded this as a happy idyll, and asked him to tell me exactly
where
he wanted to go, he initially replied: “To the south, to the Crimea or the Caucasus,” then said: “All right, let's go, but first…” And then he started telling me that the main thing was human
goodness
. Of course he won't go anywhere as long as Chertkov is here.

Lev Nik. accused me today of disagreeing with him about
everything
. About what? I asked. The land question, the religious question, everything…But that is not true. It's simply that I don't understand Henry George's ideas on the land question, and I consider it utterly unjust to give it away and deprive my children. It's the same with the religious question. We both believe in God, in goodness, and in submitting to God's will. We both hate war and capital punishment. We both love and live in the country. We both dislike luxury. The only thing I don't like is Chertkov, and I love Lev Nik. And he doesn't love me, he loves his idol.

 

30th June
. I was watching Lev Nik. play chess with Goldenweiser, when Bulgakov came in and said Chertkov's exile was over and he was going to stay with his mother in Telyatinki.* I jumped up as if
bitten, the blood rushed to my head and heart and I couldn't sleep all night.

He spent almost the whole day in bed, where he received Sutkovoy, Goldenweiser and Chertkov. I overheard his conversation with Sutkovoy, to whom he said, among other things, “I made a great mistake in getting married…” A mistake?

He considers it a “mistake” because his married life interferes with his spiritual life.

Later that evening he got up, played chess with Goldenweiser and corrected proofs of
The Power of Darkness
. We had a peaceful evening—without Chertkov.

 

1st July, evening
. I spent the day correcting proofs for the new edition of
The Fruits of Enlightenment
, and felt wretched. Lev Nikolaevich didn't like my letter to Chertkov,* but what could I do? One should always write the truth, and never mind the consequences, and I sent the letter all the same. Then this evening Lev Nik., Sasha and Chertkov all retired behind closed doors for some secret conversation, of which I overheard very little, apart from frequent mention of my name. Sasha came outside to check whether I was listening, and when she saw me she ran back to tell the others that I had probably heard their conversation—or confabulation—from the balcony. And again my heart froze and I felt unbearably hurt and sad. I then went into the room where they were all sitting, faced Chertkov and said to him: “What, another plot against me?” At which they all looked embarrassed, and L.N. and Chertkov both started talking at once about the diaries, but in such an incoherent and unclear fashion I never found out what they had been discussing, and Sasha went straight out of the room.

I then had a painful conversation with Chertkov. (Lev Nikol. went out to greet Misha, who had just arrived.) I repeated what I had written in my letter and asked him to tell me
how many
of the diaries he had,
where
they were and
when
he had taken them. At this Chertkov flew into a rage and said that since Lev Nikol. had trusted him he didn't have to answer to me or anyone else, and that Lev Nik. had given him the diaries so he could cross out any unpleasant intimate details.

He soon calmed down and suggested we should work together to love and care for Lev Nikolaevich, and that we should both devote ourselves to his life and work. As if this wasn't what I had done for
almost my entire life—for the past 48 years! But no one came between us then, we lived one life. Chertkov then announced that he was Lev Nikol.'s “spiritual confessor” (?), and that I should eventually have to reconcile myself to this.

During our conversation, the crudest words and thoughts kept breaking into Chertkov's speech. For instance, at one point he shouted: “You're afraid I'll use the diaries to unmask you! If I wanted to I could
drag you and your family through the mud
!” (a fine expression for a supposedly decent man!) “I have enough connections, the only thing that has stopped me is my love for Lev Nikolaevich.” And to show just what was possible, he cited the example of Carlyle, who had a friend who “unmasked” his wife and showed her in the worst possible light.

What a vile way Chertkov's mind works! What do I care if some stupid retired officer “unmasks” me after my death to various ill-intentioned gentlemen? My business in life and the state of my soul concern me and God alone. I have devoted my entire life on this earth to my passionate, self-sacrificing love for Lev Nikolaevich, and no mere Chertkov could possibly wipe out the past, the half-century of my life I have given to my husband.

Chertkov also shouted that if he had such a wife as me he would have shot himself or run off to America long ago. Then as he was coming down the stairs with my son Lyova, I heard him say angrily: “I can't understand a woman who spends her
entire life
murdering her husband.”

Well, this murder is certainly a slow business, considering that my husband has already lived to be 82. But he has now put this idea into Lev Nik.'s head, which is why we are so unhappy in our old age…

What is to be done now? Alas, I shall have to dissimulate if Lev Nikolaevich is not to be taken away from me entirely. I must be sweet and kind to Chertkov and his family; knowing what he thinks of me and me of him, I shall find this intolerably difficult. I must visit him and do my utmost not to upset Lev Nikolaevich, seeing that he has been coerced, controlled and enslaved by Chertkov. I have lost his love for ever if the Lord doesn't see my plight. And I feel so sorry for him! He is so unhappy under the tyrannical Chertkov's yoke—and he was happy when he was with me.