The Diaries of Sofia Tolstoy (62 page)

When I got back, Lev Nik. called me into his room and said (and by then I was so happy to hear his voice): “You suggest I see Chertkov again, but I don't want to. What I want more than anything is to live out the end of my life as calmly and peacefully as possible. I cannot be calm if you are agitated. So I think it would be best if I were to visit Tanya for a week and for us to part for a little while, to give us both the chance to calm down.”

At first the idea of another parting was unbearable to me. But after a while I realized Lev N.'s separation from Chertkov was the best possible alternative and what a good idea it was, for it would give both of us a rest from this emotional aggravation.

Today he wrote an appeal to young people wanting to refuse military service.* It was very good, and Sasha has already copied it out, but where has the original gone? Can they have given this too to Chertkov?

I did some work on the new edition, wrote to Maude about the peasants' money, and to the accountant. This afternoon I slept. Goldenweiser played a Beethoven sonata, which I didn't hear unfortunately; but I did hear him play a Chopin waltz and a Mazurka beautifully.

 

9th August
. I have been sewing for Lyovochka all day; first I altered his shirt, then his white cap, and it soothed me. I deliberately did no other work today, to give my nerves a rest. It would all be perfect if it weren't for these extraordinary outbursts of vile rudeness from Sasha. She keeps going to see the Chertkovs, and they do all in their power to turn her against me for making my husband sever connections with the Telyatinki clique. I could never have imagined it possible that my daughter would dare to treat her mother like this. When I told her father about her intolerable rudeness, he said sadly: “Yes, it's a great shame, but this rudeness is in her nature. I shall speak to her about it.”

 

10th August
. Tanya arrived at four a.m. today. I was listening out for her all night but didn't hear her arrive. This morning I had another
long talk with her about the same thing, and I became so upset that we eventually agreed not to talk any more about this subject that so torments us all.

Some soldiers came today to Yasnaya to see us for some reason. Four of them managed to slip into the house to see Lev Nik., although I never did discover what he discussed with them. He has such a strange attitude to my presence on such occasions. If I am interested in what he is talking about and go into his room, he looks at me angrily, as if I was in the way. And if I don't go in and seem uninterested, he takes this as a sign of indifference, and even outright disagreement. So I often don't know what to do.

I read
Christianity and Patriotism
for the new edition, and regretfully deleted some passages that hadn't yet been censored.* I find all this so hard to understand!

 

12th August
. I was out picking mushrooms for 3½ hours today with Ekaterina Vasilevna, Andryusha's new wife. It was delightful in the fir plantation, with the red saffron milk caps nestling amongst the green moss, and everything so fresh, peaceful and secluded. Then I worked on the new edition. What hard work it is!

This evening Tanya made a number of painful accusations against me, almost all of which were unfounded, and I detected Sasha's suspicions and lies there, for she is trying to slander me in every way she can, turn everyone against me and separate me from her father. She is the greatest cross I have to bear. Such a daughter is worse than all the Chertkovs in the world; she can't be sent away, and no one will marry her with her frightful character. I often come in through the courtyard merely to avoid having to see her, for I never know if she is going to spit in my face again, or viciously attack me with a choice selection of oaths and lies. What a grief in one's old age! How has it happened?

I have just read through my diary and was horrified—alas!—by both myself and my husband. No, it's impossible to go on living like this.

 

14th August
. Agitation much worse, blood rushes, pounding heart all day. The thought of parting from Lev Nik. is unbearable. I hesitated between staying in Yasnaya and going with him to see Tanya in Kochety, and eventually decided on the latter and hastily packed. I am very sorry to be leaving Lyova, who is awaiting trial in St Petersburg for his pamphlet, ‘The Construction of Hell',* which means they
won't give him a foreign passport. But I simply won't be parted from my husband again, I can't bear it.

I went to the woods with Katya, but the saffron milk caps had all been picked. Lev Nik. wrapped up warmly and went for a two-hour ride through Zaseka with Dushan Makovitsky. He is much better.

This evening Goldenweiser played Beethoven's sonata ‘
Quasi una Fantasia
', but his playing was cold and lifeless. He also played two Chopin pieces excellently, and Schumann's ‘Carnaval', which wasn't bad technically, although he failed to convey the different character of each separate piece.

I felt so ill all day that I went without dinner. A lot of people came—Dima Chertkov, a simple, good-natured lad, quite unlike his father; Goldenweiser and his wife, Maria Schmidt, and a stranger called Yazykova. I finished packing and went to bed late.

 

15th August (Kochety)
. We got up early and drove to Zaseka, seen off by a great many people including Lyova; then we set off for Kochety with Tanya, Sasha and Doctor Makovitsky. It was a long and difficult journey, and we had to change trains at Oryol for the Blagodatnaya line. Lev Nik. slept most of the way, hardly ate a thing and seemed very weak. But this evening in Kochety he played vint with great enthusiasm until midnight—then complained of feeling weak.

Our little granddaughter Tanechka met us touchingly at Kochety. What a sweet, adorable, loving child! How affectionately she kissed and caressed me—at least someone was pleased to see me! That sacred innocence is always so moving in a child. So unlike us adults! When I went to say goodnight to my husband this evening, he was asking Sasha (in my presence) for his notebook. She mumbled something, and I realized there was yet another plot afoot. “What are you asking for?” I said. Lev Nik. realized I had guessed something and told me the truth, thank God, otherwise I would have been terribly upset. “I am asking Sasha for my diary,” he said. “I give it to her to hide, and she copies my thoughts out of it.”*

They are
hiding it from me
, of course,
copying out his thoughts for Chertkov
.

Dear Tanya unselfishly gave me her room, which makes me feel
guilty
; I shall worry all night.

 

16th August
. How can there be any joy or happiness in life when Lev Nik. and Sasha, at his wishes, are taking enormous pains to hide
his diaries from me. I didn't sleep all night, my heart was pounding, and I kept devising new ways of reading what L.N. is so frantic to hide from me. If there is nothing there, wouldn't it be simpler to say: “There, take them, read them and calm down.” But he would die rather than do that, because that is his nature.

He complained of feeling drowsy and weak today, lay in his room, then went for a walk. I saw him for a moment though, and handed him a scrap of paper on which I had written that I considered it quite fair and reasonable to hide the diaries from
everyone
, and not let
anyone
read them. But to give them to Sasha to read and copy for Chertkov, and then furtively hide them in cupboards and desks from
me
, his
wife
, was hurtful and insulting. “Let God be your judge,” I ended my note, and I shall say no more about it.*

There are crowds of people here; it is all rather tiring, but a relief not to have any responsibilities for the housework. It is hard work for poor Tanya though, and I feel badly that the four of us have come when she already has her own large family to look after. This evening we all played vint, and I was grateful to spend an evening with my husband. He is a keen player and is always scolding me for playing so badly and tries to exclude me from the game. But yesterday I beat them all.

 

17th August
. I spent the day hard at work correcting the proofs of
Childhood
. It's astonishing to see exactly the same traits of character in his youth as in his old age—his worship of beauty (Seryozha Ivin), the way he suffers such agony from his ugliness and longs to be beautiful in exchange for being a
good, clever
boy. The chapter ‘Grisha' has an extraordinary passage in the manuscript version, omitted from the book: that sensual scene in the storeroom with Katenka directly after they witness Grisha the holy fool alone in his room in a state of tender, exalted religious ecstasy.

Beauty, sensuality, sudden changes of emotion, the eternal search for religion and truth—that is my husband through and through. He tells me his growing indifference to me is due to my “lack of understanding”. But I know that what he actually dislikes is that I understand him all too well, and see all too clearly things I hadn't seen before.

He took a walk round the park, and was visited by a
skopets
,* with whom he talked for more than two hours. I don't generally like sectarians, especially the
skoptsy
, but this one seemed intelligent enough, even though he boasted disagreeably of his time in exile.

Lev Nikolaevich seemed sad and distant again today. I expect he is pining for his idol. I should remind him of the wise words: “Thou shalt not make graven images.” But there's nothing you can do with a person's heart if they love someone intensely.

 

18th August
. I read some terrible news in the papers today: the government has given Chertkov permission to stay in Telyatinki!* Lev Nikolaevich instantly cheered up; he looks years younger and his gait is brisk and sprightly. But I am aching with unbearable anguish, my heartbeat is 140 a minute, and my head and chest are aching.

This cross I have to bear is God's will; it was sent to me by His hand, and he has chosen Chertkov and Lev Nikolaevich to be the instruments of my death. Maybe the sight of me lying dead will open L.N.'s eyes to my enemy and murderer, and he will grow to hate him and repent of his sinful infatuation with the man.

Tanechka's nurse has been a marvellous comfort to me. “Pray to your guardian angel to soothe and calm your heart,” she said firmly, “and everything will turn out for the best. You must take care of yourself,” she added.

We went to the village school, where the peasant children were performing
The Screw
by Chekhov, adapted from a short story of his. It was stuffy and tedious.

 

19th August
. I awoke early, and at the thought of Chertkov living so close to Yasnaya all the old suffering started up again. But then my husband managed to console me. He came into my room before I got up and asked how I had slept and how my health was, and he didn't ask in his usual cold manner, but with genuine concern. Then he repeated his promise:

1)
Never to see Chertkov again
,

2)
To give his diaries to no one
,

3)
To let neither Chertkov nor Tapsel take his photograph
. This was at my request. I found it most distasteful that his idol should photograph him in forests and gulleys like some old coquette, despotically dragging the old man here, there and everywhere so he could build up a collection of photographs to add to his archive.

“But I shall remain in correspondence with Chertkov,” he added, “it's essential for my work.”

I went with Tanya to pick mushrooms, of which there were masses, then played with the children and cut out paper dolls for
them. I cannot work, my heart is
physically
aching, and the blood keeps rushing to my head. L.N. and Chertkov between them have half-killed me already—another two or three heart spasms like the one yesterday will finish me off. Or I shall have a nervous attack. That would be good! They will
certainly
torment me to death at this rate—I don't want to kill myself and yield Lev Nik. to Chertkov.

 

20th August
. Two bulky parcels were posted this afternoon addressed to Bulgakov—i.e. for Mr Chertkov.* Having given up all meetings with him for my sake, Lev Nikol. is now consoling his idol with all sorts of papers for his collection, and sending these to him via Bulgakov. Lev Nik. took a long ride through the forest to Lomtsy today; this evening he played vint but was very sleepy.

 

21st August. Childhood
is now ready for the printers. I reread the chapter ‘The Ivins' and was struck by the words: “Seryozha made a great impression on me the moment I saw him. His unusual beauty astonished and captivated me. I felt irresistibly attracted to him…” And further on: “Just the sight of him was enough to make me happy, and at one time the whole strength of my soul was focused on that desire. If by chance I didn't see that lovely little face for three or four days I would fret and become sad and cry. All my dreams were of him…” And so on.

Night…I cannot sleep. I prayed and wept for a long time, and realized that what I am going through must be the means by which I appeal to God and repent of my sins—maybe too it spells the return of
happiness
and inner peace…

 

22nd August
. My 66th birthday. I still have all my old energy and passion, the same acute sensitivity and, I am told, the same youthful appearance. But these past two months have aged me considerably and, God willing, have brought me closer to my end. I got up exhausted after a sleepless night and went for a walk round the park. It was delightful: the old avenues of various trees, the wild flowers, the saffron milk caps and the silence, the solitude. Alone with God, I walked and prayed. I prayed for reconciliation, prayed that I might with God's help stop suffering, and that He might return my husband's love to me before we died.