The Diaries of Sofia Tolstoy (65 page)

Lev N. and I have lived lives of such moral and physical purity! And now he has revealed the most intimate details of our life to Chertkov and co., and this repulsive man draws his own conclusions and observations from his letters and diaries, which are often written merely to please him—often in his tone of voice too—and then he writes to Lev N. about it, for instance:

I can well imagine the sort of “explanation” he will provide, and what sort of “selection” he will make when he launches his attack on L.N.'s family—concentrating especially on the moments of struggle…

 

11th October
. I went out to the fir plantation and sawed some branches, then sat down exhausted on the bench and listened to the silence. How I love my plantation! I used to come and sit here with Vanechka. I have done very little work. I am in too much pain.

My daughter-in-law Sonya has left. She too has suffered with her husband, poor woman, for Ilya has fallen in love with someone else and ruined himself—and he has 7 children! We had a good talk to each other as wives and mothers, and we understood each other perfectly. The writer I. Nazhivin has left too. I told him everything I had endured with Chertkov, my husband and my daughters.

 

12th October
. Chertkov has now persuaded Lev N. to give instructions that the copyright shouldn't go to his children after his death, but should be public property,* as are his last works. And when L.N. said he would talk to his family about it, Chertkov was
hurt
and wouldn't let him! Scoundrel and despot! He has taken this poor old man in his dirty hands and forced him into these despicable deeds. But if I live, I shall have my revenge, and he won't be able to do any such thing. He has stolen my husband's heart from me and the bread from my children's and grandchildren's mouths,* while his son has millions of stray rubles in an English bank, quite apart from the fact that those rubles were partly earned by me, because of all the help I gave L.N. Today I told Lev Nikol. I knew about these instructions of his, and he looked sad and guilty but said nothing. Yes, an evil spirit has guided Chertkov's hand; it is no coincidence that Lev Nik. wrote in his diary: “Chertkov has drawn me into a struggle. And this struggle is painful and hateful to me.”* I am in a hurry to publish the new edition before Lev Nik. does something desperate; he is capable of anything in his present mood.

 

13th October
. Thoughts of suicide are growing again, but I nurture them in silence. Today I read in the newspapers about a little girl of fifteen who took an overdose of opium and died quite easily—she just fell asleep. I looked at my big phial—but lacked the courage.

Life is unbearable. It has been like living under bombardment from Mr Chertkov ever since Lev Nik. visited him in June and succumbed to his influence.

Monster! What business has he to interfere in our family affairs?

Lev N. has been infected by Chertkov's vile suggestion that my main motive was
self-interest
. What “self-interest” could there possibly be in a sick old woman of 66, who has a house and land, and forests and capital—not to mention my ‘Notes', my diaries and my letters, all of which I can publish?!

I went for a long walk—4 degs. below freezing—then drove to Yasenki to the post.

 

14th October
. I woke early and straight away sat down and wrote my husband a letter.

When I timidly opened the door to his study, he said, “Can't you leave me in peace?” I said nothing, closed the door and didn't go in again. He came to see me later, but there were yet more reproaches, a blank refusal to answer my questions, and such hatred!*

He is reading Dostoevsky's
Karamazovs
at present and says it is no good; the descriptions are excellent, he says, but the dialogue is very bad—it's always Dostoevsky speaking, rather than the individual characters, and their words are simply not characteristic of them.

I have done a lot of work on the new edition, and am feeling weak, my head is aching, and I keep falling asleep over my books and papers. Yesterday evening I wrote to Andryusha. Magnificent weather, clear, starry, frosty and bright, but I didn't go out.

 

16th October
. I woke early and couldn't get back to sleep for worrying about how to retrieve Lev Nik.'s diaries from the Tula State Bank. I went down to breakfast, and he announced he was off to see Chertkov.

I cannot express what I felt! I ran out to the woods and clambered down some gulleys where it would have been hard to find me had I been taken ill. Then I came out into the field and raced to Telyatinki (carrying the binoculars, so as to be able to see everything from a long way off). When I got to Telyatinki I lay in the ditch near the gates leading to Chertkov's house and waited for Lev Nik. to arrive. I don't know what I would have done if he had—I kept imagining I would lie down on the bridge across the ditch and let his horse trample over my body.

Fortunately though he didn't come. I saw young Sergeenko and Pyotr, who had gone to fetch water. (Chertkov, in the name of some sort of Christian charity, has recruited various young men to work for him, as our servants work for us.)

At 5 o'clock I wandered off again. I entered our grounds as it was growing dark, went to the lower pond and lay down for a long time on the bench under the large fir tree. I was in agony at the thought of Lev Nikolaevich's exclusive love for Chertkov, and a resumption of their relations. I could just imagine them locked away together in some room with their endless
secrets
, and these frightful imaginings turned my thoughts to the pond, in whose icy water I could that very moment have found eternal deliverance from my tormenting jealousy! Then I lay on the ground and dozed off.

When it was completely dark and I could see Lev N.'s light through the windows, they came out to search for me with lanterns. Alexei the yard-keeper found me. I got up, beside myself with cold and exhaustion, and sat down on my bed without undressing and stayed there like a mummy, without eating dinner or taking off my hat, jacket or galoshes. This is how you kill people—without weapons but with perfect aim!

When I asked L.N. why he made me so unhappy, and whether he would be going to see Chertkov later, he started shouting in a rage: “I want my freedom, I won't submit to your whims and fancies, I'm 82 years old, not a little boy, I won't be tied to my wife's apron strings!…” and many more harsh and hurtful things besides.

He cannot live without Chertkov, of course, and this is why he gets so angry with me: because I simply
cannot
force myself to endure a resumption of relations with that scoundrel.

I went in to see Lev Nik. twice during the night, in a desperate state, and tried somehow to repair our relations. I managed with great difficulty to do so, and we forgave each other, kissed and said goodnight. He said, among other things, that he would do all he could not to grieve me and to make me happy. I wonder what tomorrow will bring?

 

17th October
. A quiet day. I managed to do a lot of work on the proofs and the new edition. Lev Nikolaevich, in his Gospel for children, writes among other things about anger (quoting from the Gospel): “If you think your brother has done you a wrong, choose a time and a place to talk to him eye to eye, and tell him
briefly
about your grievance. If he listens to you, then instead of being your enemy he will be your friend for life. If he doesn't listen, take pity on him and
have nothing more to do with him
.”

This is exactly what I want from Chertkov—I want nothing more to do with him and an end to our relations.

I have decided not to go anywhere, neither to Moscow nor to concerts. I now treasure every moment of my life with Lev Nik. I love him intensely, like the last flicker of a dying fire, and I couldn't possibly leave him. Maybe if I am gentle with him he will grow more fond of me too, and won't want to leave me. God knows!

 

18th October
. I got up late feeling shattered, haunted by new fears of some quarrel or unpleasantness. When I look back on the past four months of my ordeal, I am reminded of a cat-and-mouse game. It tortured me that his seven diaries were with Chertkov, and I begged him to get them back. But he kept refusing to do so. He went on torturing me for three weeks, by which time he had driven me to despair, then he took them back, only to deposit them in the bank. I had fallen ill with a nervous disorder long before this episode with the diaries.

Then he deliberately stayed on in Kochety because he
knew
I had to be near Moscow for the new edition. The separation and worry were agony for me, yet he stubbornly stayed on and wouldn't return to Yasnaya. And when, at the end of my stay there, I begged him with tears in my eyes to tell me
roughly
when he might return, even if only for my name day, he grew furious and stubbornly refused.

Terrible weather—a driving blizzard and thick snow. By this evening it was completely white and 6 degs. of frost.

 

19th October
. E.V. Molostvova came to visit. She has made a study of various religious sects and is writing a book about them. She is a sensitive intelligent woman, and understands a great deal. I told her about my woes, and she dismissed much of what I said, insisting that beside me, Lev Nik.'s wife, Chertkov represented such an insignificant figure that I demeaned myself by imagining he could ever occupy
my
place in his relations with him. But I wasn't convinced; I am still terrified they will resume their friendship.

Last night I grew very anxious when I saw his diary had disappeared from the table where it invariably lies in a locked attaché case. And when he woke in the night, I went into his room to ask him if he had given it to Chertkov. “The diary is with Sasha,” he said, and I grew a little calmer.

Clear, frosty weather. It is now 8 degs. below freezing, and starry and silent. Everyone is asleep.

 

20th October
. Sasha was busy looking after her sick horses and writing for her father; she also went to a meeting in our village to talk to the local peasants about the consumers' store in Yasnaya Polyana.

Lev Nikol. worked on his writing and played patience, rode over to Zaseka, came into my room several times and spoke kindly to me. Some peasants came to see him—Novikov,* a clever peasant from Tula who writes articles, and some of our villagers, one of whom went to prison for two years for being a revolutionary.*

How avidly he reads everything about himself in the newspapers! He obviously couldn't do without this now!

 

21st October
. Today I saw in the newspaper
Spark
the photograph taken of Lev N. and me on our last wedding anniversary. Thousands of people can see us there together, hand in hand, as we have lived all our lives. I had a long talk with Sasha today. She knows nothing of life and people, and there is an enormous amount she doesn't understand. Telyatinki is her entire world; she has her beloved little home there, and nearby live the dull-witted Chertkovs.

I am continuing to read Lev Nik.'s pamphlets for the new edition, and find them terribly monotonous. I warmly sympathize with his denunciation of war, violence, punishments and murders, but I don't understand his denunciation of governments. People
need
leaders, masters and rulers; any sort of human organization is unthinkable without them. It is essential however, that the ruler is wise, just and self-sacrificing in the interest of his subjects.

 

23rd October
. Now that he lacks Chertkov's
closeness
, Lev Nikol. seems to have grown closer to me. He occasionally talks to me, and today I had two joys—my dear husband, the
old
Lyovochka, noticed my existence
twice
. Early this morning when guests were leaving and there was a great deal of bustle and commotion, he thought it was me walking about and came and told me how worried he had been. Later on he ate a delicious pear and brought one for me to share with him.

Recently he has started writing articles about socialism, suicide and something about madness. What he was working on this morning I don't know. This evening he was frantically sorting out his kopeck booklets for distribution, dividing them into good, middling and bad, as well as deciding which ones were for the most intelligent and which were for the less educated.

I took the dogs Belka and Marquise for a walk to Zakaz, following the horses' hoofprints in the direction where Lev Nik. and Doctor Makovitsky had ridden.

Thawing, no roads, grey and windy.

I have done a lot of reading for the new edition. My eyes are bad, I soon grow tired and am worried about the uncensored state of Lev Nikolaevich's later works.

 

24th October
. We had a visit from a young lady called Natalya Almedingen, who edits children's magazines. Also Gastev, a longstanding Tolstoyan who lives in the Caucasus, and Bulgakov.

I went for a walk with the young lady, and suddenly on the hillock in front of the swimming pool we saw two riders, Lev Nikol. and Bulgakov. I was delighted to see L.N. as I had been thinking about him, wondering if he would go home without me and worrying he might have an accident on the slippery road.

Towards evening it poured with rain and grew warmer. There was no mention of Chertkov today, but every day when L.N. sets off for his walk I wait in terror for him to return, in case he has gone to see him. I fret and cannot work, and calm down only when I see him approaching from the other direction, and am then happy for the rest of the day.