The Diaries of Sofia Tolstoy (61 page)

The boys were out picking mushrooms, such cheerful, artless fellows…In the barn the men who guard our orchards and the girl labourers (who have come from far away) were all sitting down on the threshing floor for their dinner. They looked so bright and cheerful; not one of them had ulterior motives, or was drawing up plots and documents with sly fools like Chertkov. Everything is simple and honest with them! We should learn to merge with nature and the common people; our lives would be much simpler without the stench of false non-resistance.

 

29th July
. We have regained our old calm existence again, and life has returned to normal. Thank God! Chertkov hasn't visited us for five days now, nor Lev Nik. him. But at the mere memory of him, and the possibility of their renewed intimacy, something rises from the depths of my soul and torments me. Well at least it's a rest!

Zosya Stakhovich has cheered us all up and is very pleasant company. Lev Nik. went out for a ride, even though it is still pouring with rain. I have been working on the proofs and was delighted by
The Cossacks
. How weak his later stories are by comparison!

I wrote to my daughter Tanya and my nieces Liza Obolenskaya, Varya Nagornova and Marusya Maklakova. Nikolaev came after dinner and Lev Nik. talked to him about Henry George and “justice”. I heard snatches of their conversation, which evidently exhausted him. Zosya Stakhovich talked animatedly about Pushkin, whom she has just been reading, and recited some of his poems. Then they
played a game of vint; Sasha wanted to exclude me, and when I firmly took a card she pulled a face and left the room, whereupon Lev Nik. and I cheerfully took a grand slam no trumps. I don't really like cards, but it's so depressing sitting on my own when my family are enjoying themselves at the card table. The day passed quietly, without Chertkov. Lev Nik. was in better spirits today.

 

30th July
. I have been unable to do a thing all day: nothing but humdrum tasks, tedious worries about food, making guests comfortable, supervising the rye harvest and the repairs to the storeroom and so on and so on, and nothing in return but endless criticisms and homilies about my “materialism”.

 

31st July
. How hard it is to move from reading proofs to ordering dinner, to buying rye, to reading Lev Nik.'s letters—and finally to writing my diary. How fortunate are those people who have leisure, and can spend their entire lives concentrating on one abstract topic.

While I was reading through L.N.'s letters to various people I was struck by his insincerity. For instance he writes frequently and with apparent affection to a Jew named Molochnikov*—a carpenter from Nizhny Novgorod. Yet my daughter-in-law Katya and I were remembering just today that Lev Nik. once said: “I am always careful to be friendly to Molochnikov, which is hard for me as I dislike him and have to make great efforts to behave well with him.” L.N. also writes to his wife, who he has never met. And all this because Molochnikov was sent to prison, apparently for distributing Tolstoy's books—although I am told he is simply an embittered revolutionary.

I was also struck by his frequent laments in these letters that “it is hard to live in luxury as I do, against my will…” Yet who but he needs this luxury? There are doctors for his health, two typewriters and two copiers for his writings, Bulgakov for his correspondence, Ilya Vasilevich, his valet, to look after a weak old man, and a good cook for his weak stomach.

And the entire burden of finding the money for this, supervising the estate and getting his books published rests on my shoulders, in order that he can have the comfort and leisure he needs for his work. If anyone took the trouble to examine
my
life, any honest person would realize that I personally need nothing. I eat once a day, I go nowhere. I have just one maid, a girl of eighteen, and I dress quite shabbily. Where is all this luxury I am supposed to have forced on him? How cruelly
unjust people can be! May the sacred truth contained in this diary survive to cast light on all these matters that have been obscured.

The Lodyzhenskys came, bringing with them the Russian Consul to India.* He had little of interest to say, but the Lodyzhenskys have travelled widely, have been to India and Egypt and studied religion, and are interesting, lively people.

 

1st August
. I have felt very ill all day; again everything torments and worries me. Lev Nik. is being cold and withdrawn and is evidently pining for his idol. I am trying to work out whether I can bear the sight of Chertkov—and I realize I cannot, I cannot…

Three villagers came to visit Lev Nik.; we had asked them for the names of our poorest peasants so we could buy rye seeds for them with the money the Englishman Maude sent us in aid of the starving. The peasants had a talk with Lev Nik. and promised to make a list of the poorest peasants. He told me the names of two of them, but not the third—it must be Timofei, his son by that peasant woman. (In fact it was Alexei Zhidkov.)

I told fortunes with the cards tonight. For Lev Nikolaev. I drew that he would live with a young woman (Sasha) and the King of Diamonds (Chertkov), and that he would have love, marriage and happiness (all hearts). I drew death (the Ace of Spades and the Nine). For the heart I drew an old man (the King of Spades) or a villain. Then I drew all four tens, which means that my wish will be granted, and my wish is to die, although I should hate to yield Lev Nikolaevich to Chertkov when I do. And how they would gloat and rejoice after my death! The first blow against me was well aimed and has done its work.
It is these sufferings that will bring about my death
.

 

2nd August
. Writing his diaries has lost all meaning for Lev Nikolaevich now. His life and his diaries—with their revelations of both the good and bad impulses of his soul—have become two completely separate things. His diaries are now composed for Mr Chertkov, whom he doesn't see, although from the evidence I assume they are corresponding, and their letters are passed on by Bulgakov and Goldenweiser, who come here every day.

Last time Chertkov was here, Lev Nikol. asked him if he “
received his letter, and whether he agreed with it
”. To what new abomination has Mr Chertkov given his approval now? If his visits put a stop to this clandestine correspondence, then let him visit here by all means; but they continue to write even when they are meeting, so it's better
they don't see each other—they just have their letters now, and no meetings. L.N.'s love for Chertkov intensified after he stayed with him this summer without me, and it weakens with distance and time.

Lev Nik. rode
alone
to Kolpna today to inspect the rye that we are buying for the peasants. I couldn't do a thing; my heart was pounding wildly, my head was aching, and I was terrified he had arranged to meet Chertkov and they would go there together. Eventually I ordered the cabriolet to be harnessed and drove out to meet him. He was alone, thank God, followed, it so happened, by a peasant of ours called Danila Kozlov.

I have such a lot of work to do and proofs to read, but can do nothing while Chertkov is in the neighbourhood, and I am afraid of getting things in a muddle. I forced myself to go to dinner, but immediately afterwards felt so ill I had to go to my room and lie down. Lotions and mustard plasters on my head eased the pain, and I eventually dropped off to sleep.

Lev Nik. was kind and solicitous. But later on, when I heard Bulgakov had come with some mail, and I asked if there was a letter from Chertkov, he grew furious, and said: “I think I have the right to correspond with whomever I please…He and I have a vast amount of business connected with the printing of my works and various writings…”

Ah yes, but if it was only
that
sort of business, then there wouldn't be any of this
secret
correspondence. When things are secret there is bound to be something bad hidden away. Christ, Socrates—none of the ancient philosophers did things in secret; they preached openly on the squares before the people, fearing nothing and no one. And they were killed for it too—but then they joined the gods. Criminals—conspirators, libertines, thieves—always do things in secret. And Chertkov has inveigled poor saintly Tolstoy into this situation which is alien to his nature.

 

3rd August
. When Lev Nikol. learnt that Mr Maude had revealed in his biography of him various loathsome things about Chertkov (even though he didn't name him and merely referred to him as “X”), he stooped so low as to write to Maude begging him to delete these vile truths and remove an excerpt from a letter written by our late daughter Masha, which refers contemptuously to him. I received two letters from Maude today, one to me, the other to Lev Nikolaevich. What a terrible thing it is that L.N. should love
Chertkov so much that to protect him he is prepared to humiliate himself to the point of lying.

I wanted to explain to Lev Nik. the source of my jealousy of Chertkov, so I showed him the page of his old diary, for 1851, in which he writes that he has never fallen in love with a woman but has frequently fallen in love with men. I thought he would understand my jealousy and reassure me, but instead he turned white and flew into a terrible rage such as I haven't seen for a long, long time. “Get out! Get out!” he shouted. “I said I'd leave you and I will!” He rushed from room to room and I followed him horrified. Then he went to his room, slammed the door and locked me out. I stood there stunned. Where was his love? His non-resistance? His Christianity?

When the others had gone to bed, Lev Nik. came to my room and said he had come to apologize. I trembled for joy. But when I followed him out and suggested we should try to live out the end of our lives in a more friendly fashion, he refused to listen and said if I didn't go away he would regret coming in to see me. What is one to make of him!

 

4th August
. Today passed without any mention of Chertkov, thank God! Things have become slightly easier and the air has cleared somewhat. I am grateful to my dear Lyovochka for taking pity on me. If everything started all over again I don't think I would have the strength to endure it. I hope everyone will leave Telyatinki soon, so I can stop living in terror of their secret meetings, trembling with anxiety every time Lev Nikol. goes out for a ride.

There is an evil spirit in Chertkov, and he frightens and disturbs me.

 

5th August
. I heard today that there are 30 people at Telyatinki furiously copying something. What can it be? Didn't Lev Nikol. take his diaries back yesterday? It's impossible to discover what is happening! With sly, malicious obstinacy Lev Nikolaevich hides
everything
from me, and we are strangers.

I am to blame for a great deal, of course. But I have suffered such remorse that a
kind
husband would forgive me the wrongs I have done him. How happy I should be if he would only draw me closer and say nice things to me. But this will never happen—even if Chertkov is kept away from him!

 

6th August
. Yet another sleepless night. Each morning I wake in terror at what the day will bring. And this is what happened today.
I looked into Lev Nikolaevich's room at 10 o'clock and he wasn't there, and had gone out for his walk. I dressed hurriedly and ran to the fir plantation, where he usually takes his morning walk. I met some village children and asked them: “Have you seen the old Count, my little ones?” “Yes, we saw him sitting on the bench.” “Alone?” “Yes, alone.” I took myself in hand and calmed down a little. The children were so sweet, and seeing that I couldn't find any mushrooms they gave me five brown caps, saying pityingly: “You can't see a thing, can you! You're completely blind!” Lyova came into the plantation—I don't know if he was looking for me or it was by chance; and a little later he met me again on horseback by the swimming pool.

I stayed out for four hours and grew a little calmer. The house has been invaded by the apple merchant, the guards, bearing apples and bowing—and later on the baker. Lev Nik. is being cold and severe; when I see him so cold I keep hearing that cruel cry: “Chertkov is the
person closest to me
!” Well, at least Chertkov isn't closer to him
physically
.

 

7th August
. Still the same weight hanging over us, the same gloomy atmosphere in the house. The rain pours incessantly and has beaten down the oats in the field, which have sprouted. Our peasants came and we distributed Maude's money amongst them.

I have no idea if the Chertkovs will go soon, or if L.N. wants to see him again. He says nothing and does nothing. Anger and grief are written all over his face. Oh, to melt the ice in his heart!

We lived quite happily without Chertkov for several decades, and what now? We are the same people, but now sisters quarrel with their brothers, the father is ill-disposed towards his sons, the daughters towards their mother, the husband hates his wife, his wife hates Chertkov, and all because of that gross, stupid, corpulent figure who has insinuated himself into our family and ensnared the old man, and is now destroying my life and happiness…

 

8th August
. I lay awake all night thinking I should suggest to Lev Nikol. that he sees Chertkov again. When he got up this morning I said this to him, and he waved his arm, and said he would discuss it later, then went out for his walk. At 9 o'clock I went out too, wandered all over the woods and parks of Yasnaya and tripped and fell on my face, scattering all my mushrooms; I then gathered
a big bundle of oak branches and grass, laid them on a bench and lay down, weeping and exhausted, until I eventually dozed off into fantastic dreams. The oak branches were wet from the rain, and I was soaked, but I lay there in the silence, gazing at the pine trees, for more than an hour. I was out for more than 4 hours altogether—without eating anything, of course.