The Diaries of Sofia Tolstoy (20 page)

It has been raining all day and it's cold and windy. About three days ago we had a visit from a mother and her two sons who were selling koumiss. They weren't the same people who came last year—they were quiet and looked very poor. Lyovochka keeps insisting he doesn't want koumiss and refuses to drink it, but he has had a bad stomach upset these past few days.

 

3rd June
. A German from Berlin came and spent the whole of yesterday with us.* He had come to “take a look at Tolstoy”, and ask Lev Nikolaevich for an article that he could take back and translate for his German Jews—Loewenfeld and the others. He himself is a merchant and travels around Russia buying wool. He was a most unpleasant, ingratiating fellow, and ruined the whole day. That evening Lyovochka, my sister Tanya and I had a discussion about abstract matters. Lyovochka maintained that there were certain actions which were simply
impossible
, and this was why some Christians were martyred; they were
unable
to worship sacrificial idols, the peasant was unable to spit out the communion wafer, and so on. I said that of course one couldn't do such things, but for some cause, or to help or save a person close to one, anything was possible. “Like killing a child, you mean?” he said. “No, not that,” I said, “because
that
is the worst crime one could imagine, and there couldn't be any possible justification for it.” He didn't like this at all, and contradicted me in a terrible angry voice. Then he began shouting, and I grew so exasperated I said a lot of unpleasant things to him. I told him one could never hold a conversation with him—his friends had realized this long ago—for he always
preached
at people. I couldn't talk to him when he shouted and made those horrible noises, I said, any more than I could talk to a barking dog…I was far too hard on him, but I was feeling very angry.

Lyovochka has only two “extreme” topics of conversation now: against heredity and in favour of vegetarianism. There is a third subject which he never mentions, but which I think he is writing about, and that is his ever more bitter denunciation of the Church.

 

5th June
. A warm fine day. My soul is uneasy. Lyovochka and I went to the village to look in at the boot-maker's and visit poor sick Timofei Fokanov.* I sometimes long to be close to Lyovochka and talk to him, but he makes this impossible at the moment. He has always been severe, but now one is always touching on old wounds—as happened last night. We started talking about the children and he said that twelve years ago he had undergone a great change, and that I too should have changed with him and brought up the children in accordance with his new beliefs. I replied that I could never have done so on my own—I simply wouldn't have
known how—
and that he had always
talked
a lot, and over the years he had
written
a lot, but in fact he had not only not brought up the children himself, he had actually quite often forgotten about them altogether.

It ended quite amicably however, and we parted as friends. I have just finished yet another page of proofs for
The Kreutzer Sonata
. It is now 2 in the morning.

 

7th June
. Lyovochka went to Tula at the request of one of his “dark ones”, some follower of his I don't know by the name of Dudchenko, to visit this gentleman's mistress who is being transported from Tula, where she has been in exile. They told her she could make the journey on her own if she wanted to, at her own expense, but she refused, so now she will travel with the other prisoners. Why is he going? So he can brag and boast about his “principles”, or from a sense of conviction? I won't decide before seeing for myself. It turned out the girl wasn't in Tula anyway, and Lyovochka was evidently pleased to have done his
duty
without actually having to see her. He went to the slaughterhouse again, and told us in great distress what a frightful spectacle it was, how terrified the bulls were when they were led out, and how the skin was ripped off their heads while their legs were still twitching and they were still alive. It is indeed terrible—but then all deaths are terrible! I've had a visit from Lyovochka's sister Maria Nikolaevna, the nun. She talks only of monasteries, Father Ambrosius, priests and nuns, John of Kronstadt and the holy powers of this or that icon, but she herself likes to eat well and frequently loses her temper, and seems to have no love for anyone. We went swimming this evening. It was terribly hot all day. I was cutting Vanechka's hair and accidentally nicked his head with the scissors. The blood spurted out and he cried and cried. “Forgive Maman, careless Maman,” I said, but he went on crying. Then I stretched out my hand to him and said: “There, hit it!” But he seized it and kissed it fervently, still sobbing. What a dear little boy he is. I fear he will not live long.

 

9th June
. Whit Sunday. A heavenly summer day, bright, hot and beautiful, and a lovely, warm, moonlit evening. To think of all the Whitsuns I have lived through! The children went off to church this morning in the carriage, looking very solemn in their best clothes and carrying flowers. After I had had a rest and read, I took Vanechka and Mitechka into my room and told them fairy stories in bed. One must develop their minds. Then suddenly we heard the strains of peasant women singing as they approached the house, and we went out and followed the smartly dressed crowd to Chepyzh, where they wove crowns. There is something very moving about this endlessly repeated spectacle. Every summer, for almost thirty years, ever since
I have been at Yasnaya, they have woven crowns and thrown them in the water. Almost three generations have grown up here before my eyes, and this is the one time in the year I see them all together. Today I felt such tenderness for these people with whom I have lived for so long, and for whom I have done so little.

Ilya came yesterday, and in the evening we had yet another discussion about the division of the property. Lyovochka is eating very badly and won't touch eggs, milk or koumiss, just stuffs his stomach with bread, mushroom soup and chicory or rye coffee. He has made himself a spade and says he is going to dig the wheat field instead of ploughing it. Yet another mad scheme of his—wearing himself to death digging the dry earth, which is hard as stone. I should be happy to see him healthy again, instead of ruining his stomach (in the doctor's words) with all this harmful food. I should be happy to see him an artist again, instead of writing sermons which masquerade as articles. I should be happy to see him affectionate, attentive and kind again, instead of this crude sensuality followed by indifference. And now this new fantasy of digging the earth—it will be the death of him! And in this heat! He is a continual torment to me with his perpetual dreams and his restless heart.

 

12th June
. Yesterday we had a visit from two “dark ones”, called Khokhlov and Alekhin. Alekhin used to be a learned chemist and university teacher, but now wears a peasant shirt and wanders the country with his comrades in the faith. The same old Russian pilgrims served with another sauce—this wandering life is in the Russian blood. But it seems sad that he spent ten years working at the university and is now going to waste. Khokhlov is a technician, young and somewhat unformed. They are a silent, gloomy pair, like all the disciples; they won't eat meat and wear rough peasant clothes. I cannot understand that scientist. He must realize this is no way to live, wandering about and living off others. Lyovochka keeps telling me that they
do
work, but I have yet to see any evidence of this: as far as I can see they do nothing but sit around in silence with downcast heads.

 

13th June
. I got up at four this morning to see the children off to Ilya's. It was a bright cold day. Then Lyovochka announced that he and his “dark ones” were setting off on foot to see young Butkevich, some 20 miles away. I am afraid it will exhaust him and I'm unhappy about the friendship, but I realize he's in a restless mood and if it's not this it will be something else—some wild venture he'll think up just for a
change I suppose. So they slung their rucksacks over their shoulders and all three set off in the blazing heat. The nights are very cold, but the days are hot and dry. It is dreadful to hear people complaining on all sides about the probability of famine. I can't imagine how most Russians are going to get through this year. In places there has been an almost complete crop failure, and they've had to plough the land all over again. The situation at Yasnaya Polyana is still tolerable, but there are parts of the country where people have no crops for themselves or their cattle.

We all gathered on the veranda this evening to drink tea, shivering in the cold, while Masha told us in horrified tones about the debauchery that goes on among the servants. I was appalled that she and the little girls should know such things, but it could hardly be avoided I suppose, considering the sort of life she has led. She spends all her time with the common people, and they talk of little else.

 

14th June
. I had a pleasant busy day, although I didn't sleep at all last night. This morning I read some Russian stories in a journal, then tidied the house until it was all neat and clean. I don't know why, but whenever Lyovochka is away I am always filled with energy. Then we all went for a swim. Before dinner I read the German proofs of a biography of Lyovochka that Loewenfeld had sent us. After dinner I gathered up the children and we all walked across the rye field, picking cornflowers as we went, to the Cherta forest. There we gathered bunches of night violets, then sat down to marvel at the evening. How extraordinarily lovely, peaceful and fresh it was! Then I took another turn around the park and examined the oaks and firs I had planted. I went into the house, read through the Russian proofs of the
Second Reader
, wrote some letters and drank tea with Tanya.

 

15th June
. I went to Tula with my daughter Masha, to attend to the division of the property and apprentice the boy Filka to a boot-maker—which she did. The reason for our visit was her refusal to accept her share of the property. I realize that the poor girl doesn't know what she is doing, and can't imagine what it will be like to be left without a kopeck after the life she is used to, but she is acting under hypnosis, not conviction. She is waiting for her father to return so she can ask his advice, since she must at least sign some papers and accept my guardianship.

This evening we discussed death, premonitions, dreams, and all
the things that affect our imagination. We were interrupted by a visit from a lady from the Caucasus, the wife of Doctor Kudryavtsov. She had come to see Lyovochka, and she missed him. Then my sister Tanya's son Misha arrived, and told us some fascinating stories about a madwoman here. What had happened was that various things of Tanya's had disappeared from the pavilion,* and there was clear evidence that it was the mad sister of Mitya's wet nurse who had made off with them. So Misha went off with the wet nurse to see the woman, and tactfully asked what she had done with the things. It was a highly peculiar business. Gradually she showed him where everything was: she had buried the little work box with its keys in the cemetery near the church and covered it with stones; she hid two towels and a shirt under the bridge; she trampled her own peasant dress and a pair of her husband's trousers into a muddy ditch; and she hung the antique silver ink pot on its chain from a tree in the orchard at Telyatinki. She remembered exactly where everything was, and slowly went round collecting it all except for the ink pot, which they couldn't find in the dark. It rained this evening, and got a bit warmer. But it didn't rain enough. God grant us more.

 

16th June
. It rained all day and there was a thunderstorm; the countryside and people are looking more cheerful. Lyovochka has returned from the Butkeviches in a sombre, silent mood. My daughter Masha is learning the most frightful things from the workers and peasant girls in the village. All this moral corruption grieves and shocks her dreadfully, and she insists on bringing this filth home with her and telling us about it. It's quite horrifying! When I told Lyovochka, he said we mustn't turn away from such things, we must help them forsake their vile ignorance. Help them—yes indeed, he and I might possibly try to help them, but she is an innocent girl of 20!

 

18th June
. Sasha's seventh birthday. I gave her some presents this morning, and started on the translation of the preface to an English book on vegetarianism.*

This evening we packed some plates and crockery, the samovar, some berries and various other nice things to eat, and all went off to Chepyzh, where we made a bonfire and had a “picnic”, as the children say. The little girls played rather half-heartedly, but we had great fun. Then just as it was growing dark two women came rushing out of the Kuzminskys' house and told us the bull had escaped and was charging
towards Chepyzh. We gathered up our things in a flash and raced home. It turned out that the bull had gone for the cowherd, and very nearly gored him to death. I was worried about Lyovochka, who was out swimming. But he soon came back, put on his dressing gown and announced he had a stomach ache and a chill and wasn't feeling well. It's hardly surprising, considering his abominable diet recently—almost nothing but bread, stuffing his stomach with it despite the doctor's warning that it won't do him any good. He's completely given up eggs, drinks enormous amounts of rye coffee—and on top of that he insists on walking to Butkevich's, carrying a heavy rucksack that strains his stomach. I've never met anyone so stubborn once he gets some outrageous idea into his head.

 

16th July
. I went to Moscow and ordered 20,000 copies of Volume 13; they had printed only 3,000, and had sold out almost immediately. I exhausted myself getting the paper and finding a printer prepared to do it in 2 weeks. I also ordered some silver for my niece Masha Kuzminskaya's dowry. Her sister Vera and I went to the French exhibition.* I wanted to see the paintings, but it was closing for the evening when we got there so we hardly saw anything. I was terribly tired, and decided not to go up in a balloon as I didn't want to waste 5 rubles.