The Diaries of Sofia Tolstoy

by Cathy Porter

  1909

  31st August. This morning we had a visit from a 30-year-old Romanian who had castrated himself at the age of 18 after reading The Kreutzer Sonata.* He then took to working on his land—just 19 acres—and was terribly disillusioned today to see that Tolstoy writes one thing but lives in luxury. He questioned everyone, seeking an explanation of this contradiction. He was obviously very hurt, and said he wanted to cry, and kept repeating, “My God, my God! How can this be? What shall I tell them at home?” Then a rich deaf mute arrived from Kiev with his friend, a barber, especially to make Tolstoy’s acquaintance. Goldenweiser came and played chess with L.N.

  2nd September. Lev Nikolaevich’s preparations to visit Chertkov are very painful for me. I corrected the proofs of Maude’s English biography of him, and drew some illustrations. Our visitors today were the Nikolaevs, Goldenweiser, Kalachyov, the deaf mute and some cinematographers from Paris.*

  1910

  18th April (Yasnaya Polyana). Easter Sunday. A decorated officer visited, who had written some scurrilous verses about Lev Nikolaevich.* Very remorseful. We rolled eggs on the balcony with the children. A warm summery day, 18° in the shade. The birches are delightful with their soft green leaves. The cheerful sounds of humming bees and singing birds. Clear, bright days, intermittent rumbling of thunder, peasants singing in the village. Seryozha has left. He played the piano a little, his own works too, which were lovely. This evening Nikolaeva came to visit. Endless talk, they all prevented me from doing any work.

  19th. There are some lovely bulbs out in the meadow, and marguerites and violets. Still the same heavenly fine weather—it could be June. We had dinner on the veranda and rolled eggs. Two real Japanese men* visited; one runs a lot of schools in Japan, the other is a student in Moscow. Maria Schmidt came, and Gorbunov. Then Mezhekova the typist arrived with her little girl. After church they played the gramophone at the village library, and a lot of people came to listen. Lev Nikolaevich talked to the peasants, who asked him about the horn, and about the construction of the gramophone. Tanya is packing—unfortunately: I shall miss my granddaughter Tanechka. I played “opinions” with the children. Tanechka thought and thought, then said, “Granny is an angel.”

  20th. My two darling Tanechkas, mother and daughter, left this morning. I worked hard on the proofs of Childhood. I miss my daughters and worry about Sasha. This evening I sat down to play the piano—the whole of Beethoven’s ‘Pathétique’, and another sonata of his. Lev Nikolaevich listened happily.*

  29th May (Yasnaya Polyana). Painful discussion with Lev Nikolaevich. Reproaches flung at me for our privileged life, after I complained about the difficulties of running the estate. He wants to drive me out of Yasnaya to live in Odoev or Paris or some other place. I went out of the house. Terrible heat, aching leg, wild pulse. I lay down in a ditch and stayed there, and they sent a horse for me.* Stayed in bed all day, wept, didn’t eat. The sculptor Paolo Trubetskoy came with his wife.

  4th June. Too many visitors. Lev Nikolaevich is distraught because the Circassian guard has brought Prokofy in for stealing a beam, and he is an old man who once worked with him.* Oh, I’ve had enough of the estate!

  28th October. Lev Nik. has left! My God! He left a letter telling me not to look for him as he had gone for good, to live out his old age in peace. The moment I read those words I rushed outside in a frenzy of despair and jumped into the pond, where I swallowed a lot of water. Sasha and Bulgakov dragged me out with the help of Vanya Shuraev. Utter despair. Why did they save me?

  29th. All the children have come, apart from Lyova, who is abroad. They are so kind and attentive, but they can’t help or comfort me. Mitasha Obolensky has come. Seryozha, Ilya and Misha have left. Vanya discovered that L. Nik. had gone to Belev—maybe to see his sister Maria Nikolaevna?*

  30th. I cry day and night and suffer dreadfully. It’s more painful and terrible than anything I could have imagined. Lev Nik. did visit his sister in Shamordino, then travelled on beyond Gorbachevo—who knows where.* What unspeakable cruelty!

  31st. I haven’t eaten or drunk anything for four days, I ache all over, my heart is bad. Why? What is happening? Nothing to write about—nothing but groans and tears. Berkenheim came with some stupid doctor called Rastorguev, and a young lady fresh from medical school.* These outsiders make it much more difficult, but the children don’t want to take responsibility. What for? My life? I want to leave the dreadful agony of this life…I can see no hope, even if L.N. does at some point return. Things will never be as they were, after all he has made me suffer. We can never be straightforward with each other again, we can never love each other, we shall always fear each other. And I fear for his health and strength too.

  1st November. I am growing weak; I have eaten nothing for five days, and have just drunk a little water. Today I feel slightly better, and am not such a prey to my passionate love for L.N. that has tormented my heart and is now poisoned. I received the Eucharist, talked with the priest and decided to take a little food, for fear of not being strong enough to go to Lev Nik. should he fall ill. My son Misha has arrived. I did a little work.

  2nd. I received a telegram from Russian Word at 7.30 this morning: “Lev Nik. ill in Astapovo. Temperature 40°.” Tanya, Andryusha, the nurse and I all left Tula for Astapovo by special train.

  3rd (Astapovo). Doctor Nikitin arrived, then Berkenheim. Lev Nikolaevich has pneumonia in the left lung. They won’t let me see him. Seryozha is here, and Tanya. Lev Nik. wired for Chertkov in person.*

  4th. Lev Nik. is worse. I wait in agony outside the little house where he is lying. We are sleeping in the train.

  5th. Shchurovsky and Usov have come. There is evidently little hope. I am tormented by remorse, the painful anticipation of his end, and the impossibility of seeing my beloved husband.

  6th. Dreadful atmosphere of anticipation. I can’t remember anything clearly.

  7th. At 6 o’clock in the morning Lev Nikol. died. I was allowed in only as he drew his last breath. They wouldn’t let me take leave of my husband. Cruel people.*

  8th. We are leaving with the body. They have lent us the train carriage in which we were staying.

  9th. Back in Yasnaya. Crowds of people at Zaseka. We lowered the coffin onto the station and they came to pay their last respects. Masses of young people and delegations. They all followed the coffin from Zaseka to Yasnaya Polyana. We buried Lev Nikolaevich.

  10th. I am ill with a cough and a fever of 40.4—I cannot remember anything. Varya Nagornova and my sister Tanya are here with me. It’s good to be with them. Sasha left this morning for Telyatinki.

  11th. I am ill. They have hired a nurse, Ekaterina Terskaya.

  13th–15th. Ill. My sons were here.

  16th–18th. Ill in bed. Many letters and telegrams.

  25th. Better, but still in bed. Sleepless nights.

  27th. Got up. Bulygin, Biryukov, my sister Tanya, the Sukhotins and others came. They brought my granddaughter Sonechka.

  28th. Health better. Anna Maslova came, Drankov the cinematographer and Spiro the journalist. All very painful, but it’s a little easier with other people. What will happen when I’m alone? Terrible! No future.

  29th. Unbearable depression, remorse, painful feelings of pity for my late husband’s sufferings—what he must have endured at the end!…I cannot go on living. My sister Tanya has a sore throat.

  30th. Sasha arrived with Maria Schmidt and Vaka Filosofov. Tanya is better. Zero degrees. A damp, overcast November, with almost no snow. A dismal, frightening life ahead—in a few days I shall be alone.

  2nd December. Everyone is still here, thank God. What will happen afterwards? Sasha arrived with Varvara Mikhailovna.

  4th. A journalist from the New Times has arrived—a certain Ksyunin. Windy and overcast. No snow. I haven’t done a thing. A lot of chatter on all sides.

  5th. Seryozha and others came. We show Lev Nik.’s room to visitors.

  6th. More people came to visit the grave with the physicis
t Alexander Zinger. A dear man. I showed them the rooms. Bulgakov was here. I read him my memoirs. My two darling Tanechkas have left. It’s even more sad and difficult.

  7th. Deep despair all day. I didn’t sleep all night and wept all morning. My daughter-in-law Sonya came, Ilya arrived for dinner, and things became more cheerful. Bulgakov and Belinky came. Zero degrees.

  8th. My sister Tanya left this morning, and I wept. The loneliness is unbearable. No one to care for, no one to talk to. I don’t remember what I did. I wrote something and went to L.N.’s grave with Sonya.

  9th. I translated some letters from French and copied them for the new edition. Proofs. The artist Rossinsky came. My daughter-in-law Sonya left this evening.

  10th. Read proofs all day. Rossinsky is still here. My son Misha arrived for dinner and left at eight to see Sasha, from where he will return to his estate in Chifirovka. I took a bath. A wind has blown up. I wrote to Maslova, Taneev,* Lyova and Andryusha.

  11th. I tidied Lev Nikolaevich’s things to protect them from moths. It was terribly painful—life is torture. I wrote to Tanya and fell asleep this afternoon to the sounds of a terrible gale. Loneliness, remorse, despair!

  12th. Read proofs, walked to the village with the nurse. Everyone weeps when they see me. I sorted through the newspapers. Dushan Makovitsky has left to see Misha, whose son Petya has pneumonia. A publisher called Lenkovsky was here. This evening there was a telegram announcing Seryozha’s arrival.

  13th. I didn’t sleep last night. Oh, these ghastly sleepless nights, alone with my thoughts, my agonizing conscience, the darkness of the winter night and the darkness in my soul! Two ladies from St Petersburg came with a letter from Misha Stakhovich—one was called Elena Timrot. Gué, Nikitin and my son Seryozha came too. Life is easier with them here. But soon there’ll be loneliness again!

  14th. My guests haven’t left yet, and I am glad! I wept all day and visited the grave. There I found an artist and the village policeman—most unpleasant. I catalogued the library books, most of them Lev Nikolaevich’s. What a warm winter! It’s 2° today. I wrote to Lyova.

  15th. Seryozha, Maria Schmidt, Bulygin and Gué spent the day with me. Sasha came—we are friends. I weep incessantly, tormented by my separation from Lev Nik. My one consolation is that I too haven’t long to live. I have done a little work on the proofs and feel unwell.

  16th. All the villagers from Yasnaya Polyana—peasants, women and children—gathered today, 40 days after his death, at Lev Nikolaevich’s grave, which they tidied and laid with branches and fir wreaths. They knelt on the ground three times, took off their caps and sang ‘Eternal Memory!’ I cried and suffered deeply, but felt moved by the peasants’ love for him. At that moment we were all experiencing the same thing together, and they were so sweet to me. I wrote to my sister and to my daughter Tanya, and to Ilya and Andryusha. So sad and lonely!

  17th. I took a sleeping powder and slept, but waking was frightful! Yet more visitors from far-off places to see the grave and the house. Proofs, newspapers—such a lot to be done. I live here with the nurse, Ekaterina Terskaya. Proofs, copying and depression day and night. It sometimes seems all this is temporary and things will soon return to normal.

  18th. I walked around the garden in the heavy snow, then visited Lyovochka’s grave. I feel so puzzled whenever I go there—can it really be my beloved Lyovochka lying under the ground? And every time I cry until my chest aches. I copied his articles and read proofs. Oh, the loneliness! 52 girl students from St Petersburg came to visit the grave and look around the house.

  19th. I copied out a play by L.N., then walked to the village to find out about the taxes and ask who was selling what to pay them. Biryukov visited briefly, with a journalist from Russian Word, and yet more visitors. They come from all corners of the world. There were four Slavs from Austria, a man from the Caucasus and a Mohammedan who brought a wreath. A lot of snow. It is white, quiet and beautiful. 5° below freezing. But where is He? Where?

  23rd. Ilya has left. He visited Sasha and Chertkov, about whom we are discovering more and more bad things. A sly, malicious man. I went to photograph the grave, and wept. A delightful, fine, bright day, with the white hoar frost and the blue sky. But the beauty made me even sadder. 13–17° below freezing. This afternoon I developed my photographs of Lev Nik.’s grave.

  24th. Another sleepless night—torture! I was woken by a mouse. This morning I printed the photographs of L.N.’s grave. Then I wrote letters to my sister Tanya, Chefranov the accountant, the editors of Herald of Europe and Russian Wealth, the stationmaster and Sergeenko. This evening I copied L.N.’s manuscript of The Light Shines Even in Darkness. A rough draft, not very good. Andryusha is a little calmer but still irritable.

  25th. A painfully sad Christmas! I was pleased to have Andryusha here, but he left at three. I visited L.N.’s grave with the nurse, and decorated it with white and pink hyacinths, leaves and primulas. I wept bitterly. The beauty of nature and the light of the sun were astonishing. Dushan Makovitsky, the nurse and I wrote quietly for a long time in the drawing room together. 15° below freezing.

  26th. Slept badly, as depressed as ever. Wrote all day. Another beautiful day, hoar frost, sun and ice. Didn’t leave the house. Wrote letters, two business replies.

  27th. Took some veronal for my insomnia and slept till 12. Felt dazed, but it’s better like this—the suffering is less acute, the body loses the capacity to respond to spiritual pain. But where is the soul? I did a lot of copying and wrote to Lina, Vanya and Tanya, Sonya and Ilyushok, plus two business letters. 15° below freezing as before, and windy.

  28th. It is two months today since Lev Nik. left. I went to the grave. Life is just as unbearably painful. I wrote to my daughter Tanya in Rome and sent her a photograph of the grave. 10° below freezing, windy and not quite so beautiful outside. I am copying manuscripts. My daughter Sasha came, and Andryusha with his wife and daughter. There have been a lot of visitors to Lev Nik.’s grave and his rooms.

  29th. I wrote all day and corrected proofs—there were a lot to do. Andryusha is a sorry sight with his unstable nerves. We’re all like that now! And so depressed. The weather is warmer; I didn’t go out. I copied a very good excerpt from a work of Lev Nikolaevich’s about God. He wrote well, but what did he do?

  30th. My son Ilya arrived with his wife and three eldest boys. Andryusha is a little better today, but still very tense. Windy. 6° below freezing. A sleepless night, slightly feverish all day, didn’t leave the house. I’m glad my sons are here, I don’t feel so lonely. Read a lot of proofs, and copied a lot of Lev Nik.’s story ‘What I Dreamt About’.

  31st. I read proofs, copied Father Sergei and played for a while with my granddaughter Mashenka. My son Seryozha arrived before dinner. When the clock struck 12 we all gathered in the drawing room and talked about Lev N.’s last days. Then we went into the dining room and drank tea. There was a cake, fruit and fruit juice for the children. The atmosphere was sad but very touching. Ilya told me something interesting old Professor Snegiryov had told him about Lev Nikol.’s death. Apparently there’s a certain kind of pneumonia that starts as an unnatural excitement of the brain, and the patient, infected by the poison, rushes out of the house, goes off he knows not where and roams around. Just like Lev Nik. leaving the house and visiting Shamordino, then rushing off. He bought tickets that were valid for three months. Snegiryov assumes Lev Nik. was already ill when he left Yasnaya Polyana.

  1911

  January–February—student riots, followed by arrests and deportations; 125 professors resign. Universities come under police control. Jews further disenfranchised. September—Stolypin, President of the Council of Ministers, assassinated by agent of security police. Ascendancy at court of the monk Rasputin and his increasing influence on government decisions. The start of a series of wars in the Balkans for control of the Ottoman Empire.

  Battle over Tolstoy’s manuscripts begins, with Sofia and her sons against Chertkov and Sasha (who obtains injunct
ion forbidding her mother access to her room at the Historical Museum and halting publication of her editions). Government declines to buy Yasnaya Polyana so as not to honour Tolstoy’s memory, but the Tsar provides his widow with a generous pension. Sofia’s brother-in-law Mikhail Kuzminsky and her sons Lev, Mikhail, Andrei and Ilya negotiate with American businessmen against her will over the possible purchase of Yasnaya (it comes to nothing). March—official opening of the Moscow Society of the Tolstoy Museum. Sofia starts work on an edition of Tolstoy’s letters to her.

  1st January. Made a copy of Lev Nikol.’s diary for July and August to give to Lyova. Lovely weather, 5°, moonlit nights and such sadness! My children, grandchildren, guests and people in general are no real consolation, only a diversion. I even love my sadness, as my final contact with my Lyovochka. The tears are there, every moment of the day, but I try to restrain myself and fear them. Seryozha is closest to me, we grieve more than the others.