The Diaries of Sofia Tolstoy (47 page)

I haven't been writing my diary; it has taken me such a long time to get used to the new living conditions and emotional deprivations I have to endure here. But I am now used to it, helped by the knowledge that I am fulfilling my stern duty and my wifely obligations.

Last night I wrote letters to our four absent sons (Andryusha has just arrived), and was then kept awake all night by tormenting memories of my children's early years, my passionate, anxious relationship with them, the unwitting mistakes I made in their education and my relationship with them now they are
grown-up
.
Then my thoughts turned to my dead children. I saw with agonizing clarity first Alyosha, then Vanechka, at various moments of their lives. I had a vivid vision of Vanechka, thin and ill in bed, when after his prayers, which he invariably said in my presence, he would curl up into a cosy little ball and go off to sleep. I remember how it broke my heart to see his little back and feel his tiny bones under my hand.

And as for the spiritual and physical solitude I endured last night! Things have happened exactly as I imagined. Now that physical infirmity has forced Lev Nikolaevich to abandon amorous relations with his wife (this wasn't so long ago), instead of that peaceful, affectionate friendship I have longed for in vain all my life, there remains nothing but emptiness.

Morning and evening he greets me and leaves me with a cold and formal kiss. He loses his temper and tends to regard the world about him with utter indifference.

I think more and more of death, imagining with a calm joy the place where my infants have gone.

 

3rd December
. A hot day. I went to Yalta and sent a letter to Seryozha authorizing him to buy 150 acres of land in Telyatinki to add to the Yasnaya property. Oh, this endless unbearable business, which is all so unnecessary to me! I wandered round the town on my own and went to Chukurlar, where I met a consumptive young man begging for a living. Everything here is dreary and chaotic. And there's more to come. Ilya and Andryusha have just arrived and, to my great displeasure, were playing cards with Sasha, Natasha Obolenskaya, Klassen the German bailiff and my daughter-in-law Olga. I sat sewing silently on my own, then studied some Italian.

 

4th December
. Another hot day, brighter and lovelier than yesterday. The sun is as hot as summer. What a strange changeable climate here, and one's moods are equally changeable. Lev Nikolaevich, Sukhotin and his son and tutor, Natasha Obolenskaya and I walked to Orianda. The walk tired us a little but the “Horizontal path” was very lovely. We drove home with Sonyusha and Olga, and the sea and sunset were magical.

 

7th December
. I have just said goodbye to Andryusha and my good-natured, childish Ilya. Lev Nikolaevich will accompany them to Yalta and spend the night there with Masha, which he has wanted to do for
a long time. Either the arsenic or simply the good weather has had an excellent effect on him, and he is feeling much more fit and energetic. And this bustling activity shows how glad he is to be better. Yesterday he was on his feet from morning to night, and that evening he walked to the hospital, marvelling at the view in the moonlight. Today he got ready to leave for Yalta.

I wanted to help him pack so he wouldn't exert himself, but he snapped at me so peevishly I almost burst into tears, and went off without saying a word.

I incline more and more to the view that every kind of sectarianism, including my husband's teachings, tends to dry people's hearts and make them proud. Two women I know well, his sister, Mashenka the nun, and his cousin Alexandra, have both become better, nobler people without leaving the Church.

My poor Tanya gave birth to another dead baby, a boy, on 12th November. She is even more devoted to her frivolous selfish husband. There is nothing left of her now, she has been completely absorbed by him; he
allows
himself to be loved, and loves her very little himself. Well, thank God if that is to her liking! We women are able to live for love alone, even when it's not reciprocated. And even then one can live a full and active life!

Various pieces of news from Moscow and Yasnaya. Our affairs are being neglected, our friends are forgetting us; I am tantalized by all the wonderful recitals and symphony concerts, but it's no use, I just have to sit here and mope.

 

8th December
. Lev Nikolaevich didn't return from Yalta today.

 

9th December
. It's just as I thought—Lev Nikolaevich has been taken ill in Yalta and his heart is irregular. I have just spoken to him on the telephone; he sounded quite cheerful, and said it was his stomach again; the long ride to Simeiz and back irritated his intestines. It must be the hundredth time he has done this. Just before he left he wolfed down some treats we had got for little Andryusha's sixth birthday—some dumplings and grapes, a pear and some chocolate. And now look what happens. The moment he gets better he undoes everything with his immoderate appetite and activity. He takes fright, is treated, gets better, then ruins everything again…And so it goes on, in a vicious circle.

I went to church. The girls sang beautifully and I am in a happy, calm state of mind. Unlike other people I'm not bothered by
foolishness like “with ranks of angels bearing spears” and “at the right hand of the Father” and so on. Above and beyond all this is the Church—the place that reminds us of God, where millions of people have brought their noble religious sentiments and their faith, the place where we bring all our griefs and joys, at every moment in our fickle lives.

 

13th December
. Lyovochka's niece Liza Obolenskaya and I took him back to Gaspra with us today.

At first, after drinking some coffee with milk, he was very lively, and this evening he played two games of chess with Sukhotin; then he felt weak and took to his bed. We had been urging him to go to bed all along as the doctor had ordered, but he wouldn't listen.

The Sukhotins have had some bad news. Their Seryozha has fallen ill with typhus at Naval School, and they have been informed by telegram that his condition is serious. Tanya is wretched and has been weeping. She takes such a childish view of her fate; she thinks someone is forever out to hurt her.

We heard to our great joy today that a son, Ivan, had been born to Misha and Lina on the 10th. May my Vanechka inhabit this little boy's soul and pray for him to grow up to be a happy, healthy child.

 

14th December
. Lev Nikolaevich moved downstairs yesterday so as not to have to climb the stairs. His room next to mine is empty, and there is something ominous and poignant about the silence upstairs. I no longer have to put the washbasin down quietly on the marble table and tiptoe around and refrain from moving chairs.

Liza Obolenskaya is sleeping downstairs next to his room at present, and he gratefully accepts her help and is glad not to have to bother me.

 

15th December
. Lyovochka has recovered now and we have all cheered up. He had dinner with us and walked as far as the gates of the estate.

He had a call from Doctor Altschuler, who is treating him here, a pleasant, clever Jew, not at all like most Jews, whom Lev Nikolaevich trusts and likes. He was given his thirtieth arsenic injection today, and took five grains of quinine.

We have a Slovak Doctor Makovitsky* here, whom we have already met, accompanied by some Georgian called Popov, who is apparently a Tolstoyan.

 

23rd December
. Lev Nikolaevich is fully recovered. He went for a long walk today, and looked in on Maxim Gorky*—or rather Alexei Peshkov; I dislike it when people write under assumed names. Lev Nikolaevich, Olga, Boulanger and I all came home in the carriage. It is fine, windy and warm—6°. He brought a large mauve-pink wild flower into the house and it has blossomed again. The almond tree is also trying to come into blossom, and the snowdrops are in flower. So beautiful! I am beginning to love the Crimea. My depression has lifted, thank God, mainly because he is better now.

 

24th December
. This evening he played vint with his children and Klassen (the bailiff). They all shouted and got very worked up over a grand slam no trumps—I find this excitement over card games incomprehensible, shouting a lot of nonsense as if they've all lost their reason.

 

25th December
. We had a festive Christmas. Lev Nikolaevich is better—his fever has passed and his arms aren't hurting him.

 

26th December
. We spent the evening at Klassen's—German conversation, strange people and sweet food—not at all to my liking.

 

29th December
. The Tartars had a festival today. They were seeing a Mullah off to Mecca for three months and had prepared a dinner for him, and the streets of Koreiz and Gaspra were crowded with cheerful people of all nationalities in their best clothes. The Turks danced in a circle, looking very picturesque. I tried to take a photograph of them, but they were moving too fast and it came out badly. Lev Nikolaevich walked off on his own to Ai-Todor. He was gentle and kind today, and we are getting on well together—what a joy!

 

30th December
. A very mixed lot of people came to see Lev Nikolaevich—three revolutionary workers filled with hatred for the rich and dissatisfaction with the present social arrangements, then six sectarians who have lapsed from the Church, three of whom are true Christians, in that they lead a moral life and love their neighbour. The other three were originally Molokans and are still sympathetic to their beliefs.

There was also an old man, better off and more intelligent than the rest, who apparently wants to go to the Caucasus and found a monastery by the sea based on new principles. He wants all the
brothers to be highly educated, so that this monastery could be a sort of centre of learning and civilization. The monks would work the land and support themselves through their own labour. A difficult venture, but a worthy one.

This evening we went to the public library, where a dance had been organized. The music was provided by three travelling Czech musicians and a young man with a big harmonium, and chambermaids, and craftsmen's wives and daughters all danced waltzes, polkas and
pas de quatre
with men from various social classes. Two Tartars did some Tartar dances, two Georgians did a
lezginka
with a dagger, and a lot of people—including Volkov the
zemstvo
doctor, a highly capable and energetic man—danced the
trepak
, squatting and leaping Russian-style. We all went to watch, even Lev Nikolaevich.

 

31st December
. The last day of a difficult year! Will the new one be better?

Lev Nikolaevich walked over to see M. Gorky and returned with Goldenweiser, who is staying with us.

I have copied out the first chapter of ‘On Religion', and so far I don't like it. I don't at all like the way he compares people's faith in religion to an outworn appendix.

I went with Sasha to Koreiz to buy wine, oranges and refreshments for the servants' New Year party. We are having a party too, although I don't much like these
semi
-celebrations. People just sit around and eat, then at midnight something is suddenly supposed to
happen
.

April—a young student shoots dead Minister of Interior. July—a worker shoots governor of Kharkov. Waves of peasant riots in the countryside; some ninety estates plundered, with the help of Socialist Revolutionary “expropriators”
.

June—Tolstoys leave the Crimea. Tolstoy works on two plays
, The Light Shines Even in Darkness
and
The Living Corpse,
a few short stories, an essay on Shakespeare and a popular anthology
, Thoughts of the Wise Men for Every Day.
Sofia works on the eleventh edition of his
Complete Works.

 

1st January
. We had a quiet family New Year party yesterday. (Lev Nikolaevich had to go to bed early, as he felt ill after his bath.) Klassen came this morning with some lovely violets.

I am copying Lev Nikolaevich's article ‘On Religion' a little at a time, but it lacks something—it needs more passion, more conviction.

I took a walk to the Yusupovs' Park and the coast, with Olga and Tanya. It was a warm, summery day, and by the sea we met Gorky and his wife. Then Altschuler called. Our servants all came in dressed as mummers and stamped and danced about; it was terribly tedious—I am much too old for that sort of thing.

I wrote five letters, finished knitting a scarf and gave presents to Ilya Vasilevich and the cook. I received charming letters from my daughters-in-law Sonya and Lina, and felt so pleased that at least two of my children, Ilya and Misha, are happily married. What will this new infant Vanechka Tolstoy be like?

 

4th January
. For the past three nights I have been sleeping on the leather sofa in the drawing room, or rather not sleeping but listening out all night for Lev Nikolaevich next door. His heart has been very irregular. Yesterday and today he came down to dinner, but grew dreadfully weak afterwards, and today we summoned Tikhonov, the Grand Duke's doctor, from Dülber. He warned of dire consequences if Lev Nikolaevich continued to lead this reckless life, overtiring himself and overeating.

Seven inches of snow fell in the night, and it is still on the ground. Yesterday there was a north wind and 3 degrees of frost; today it is
half a degree above freezing, with no wind. I knew this weather would have a bad effect on him. It always does.

I am looking after him on my own, but his obstinacy, his tyrannical behaviour and his complete ignorance of hygiene and medical matters makes it terribly hard, even unbearable at times. For instance, the doctors order him to eat caviar, fish and bouillon, but he refuses because he is a vegetarian—it will be the ruin of him.

I have been reading an extraordinary little book, a translation of Giuseppe Mazzini's
On Human Duty
.*

 

5th January
. Palpitations, difficulty in breathing, insomnia, general misery. Several times during the night I got up and went to him. He drank some milk with a spoonful of cognac, took some strophanthus, which he asked for himself, and managed towards morning to get a little sleep. Doctor Tikhonov called yesterday evening, and again today, and said there was an infiltration of the liver, a weakness of the heart and a disorder of the intestines. These complaints appeared long ago, but are now following their course in a more pronounced and malignant fashion, and manifest their ominous symptoms yet more frequently and painfully.

L.N. is very dejected, and keeps us all at a distance, calling us only if he needs something. He sits in a chair, reads or goes to bed. He slept very little again today.

There is snow on the ground and the temperature is at freezing point. A terrible wind has been howling all day. The whole place is cheerless and desolate. I have put all thoughts of Moscow out of my mind for now—although it's essential that I go!

I sit at home all day sewing and ruining my eyes; I am sunk in torpor, as I used to be in my youth at Yasnaya Polyana. But then I had children!…

 

8th January
. Doctor Altschuler and Doctor Tikhonov came yesterday and prescribed a twice-weekly dose of extract of buckthorn, in tablet form, and five drops of strophanthus three times a day for six days. But he refuses to take anything. I am tired of this forty-year struggle, I am tired of having to employ tricks and stratagems to make him take this or that medicine and help him get better. I no longer have the strength to struggle. There are times when I long to get away from everyone and withdraw into myself, if only briefly.

All this morning I was copying out his ‘On Religion'. This is more of a socialist work than a religious one.

I told him this yesterday. A religious work should be poetic and exalted, I said; his ‘On Religion' was very logical but didn't capture the imagination or elevate the soul. He replied that it needed only to be logical, a lot of poetry and lofty obscurity would only confuse the issue.

I was thinking about my trip to Moscow again.

 

10th January
. The atmosphere here is so gloomy at times. I am sitting alone after dinner sewing in the dark drawing room. Lev Nikolaevich is next door in his room. Tanya is tapping away on the Remington on the other side, Seryozha is silently reading the newspapers in the dining room, and Olga is upstairs with Sonyusha. There is silence in the house, broken at times by terrible gusts of wind, which howls and groans and stalks the rooms, filling them with cold.

He is so weak at present, he often calls me simply to cover him with a rug or adjust his blanket. I have to make sure he doesn't overeat, that people don't make a noise when he is trying to sleep and that there are no draughts. I have just put a compress on his stomach. He drinks Ems water twice a day.

 

11th January
. I went to Yalta with Tanya to do some business and shopping, and brought her a hat for her name day. Masha was looking very thin and wretched.

Poor Olga's baby has stopped moving inside her in her sixth month. I feel so sorry for her. I brought Sasha home. Yesterday she rode her horse over to Gurzuf, and today she attended a rehearsal of
It's Not All Cream for the Cat
, in which she plays Fiona. I have now finished copying ‘On Religion', which I began to like better towards the end. I like what he writes about the freedom of a man's soul illuminated by religious feeling.

 

12th January
. The whole day was absorbed by worries. First I played with my granddaughter, then comforted poor Olga who was weeping for her baby; then I washed and mended Seryozha's cap; then I gave Sasha some advice about her theatrical costume; then the doctor came to see Olga; then this evening I prepared an enema for Lev Nikolaevich; then I put a compress on his stomach and brought him some wine, and he drank some coffee that had been heated up for him.

Tanya's name day. She has arrived from Yalta and is in a melancholy mood. Andryusha too is sad and quiet: his marriage is in difficulties
and I feel very sorry for him. Seryozha has just left for Yalta, intending to celebrate the first day of the Moscow University year. He has spent the last few days playing the piano on his own in the side wing. I have been deprived of even that pleasure now! I cannot leave the house, I cannot leave Lev Nikolaevich or Olga with anyone. My old age is turning into a sad time. Yet that storm of desires and aspirations for a more spiritual, more significant life has not been extinguished in my soul.

 

14th January
. How time flies…There is no winter here and no certainty. There is nothing to rejoice about either. Lev Nikolaevich's health isn't improving. This great man has a dreadfully obstinate nature. He refuses the diet of fish and chicken that has been recommended, and insists on eating carrots and red cabbage as he did today, then suffering for it.

I sat by his room until half-past three in the morning yesterday, waiting for Andryusha and Seryozha to return from an evening of cards. He slept well. At the moment I am copying out his letter to the Tsar.

 

16th January
. A terrible night. L.N.'s temperature went up to 38. I spent the night in the drawing room next to his bedroom and had no sleep at all. Yesterday and today we rubbed him with iodine and applied a compress. He had five grains of quinine at 2 in the afternoon, and has been taking 5 drops of strophanthus twice a day. Despite all this he got up, did some writing and played vint with Klassen, Kolya Obolensky and his sons.

 

17th January
. The same medicine, the same pain in his side, although he is a little more cheerful. Chekhov called,* and Altschuler. The weather is warm and fine. Tanya has left to see her husband in the country. I have just copied out L.N.'s letter to the Tsar—an angry insulting letter, abusing everything on earth and giving him the most absurd advice on how to run the country. I do hope Grand Duke Mikhailovich understands it is the product of a sick liver and stomach and doesn't give it to the Tsar; if he does, it will infuriate him and he may take action against us.

 

18th January
. I put my husband to bed every evening like a child. I bind his stomach with a compress of spirit and camphor mixed with water, I put out a glass of milk, a clock and a little bell, I undress him and tuck him up; then I sit next door in the drawing room reading the
newspapers until he goes to sleep. I have summoned up all my patience and am doing my utmost to help him endure his illness.

 

20th January
. I went to see Sasha in the role of Fiona the old housekeeper in
It's Not All Cream for the Cat
, which is being performed in the local library. It was Sasha's first acting attempt, and she wasn't at all bad. The cast was a strange mixture of people—a doctor's wife, a blacksmith, a nurse, a stonemason and a countess. This is all good.

Lev Nikolaevich is better, his stomach isn't hurting and his temperature was 36.9 this evening, as it was yesterday. He took some strophanthus, but refused to take quinine. We didn't apply a compress today.

There has been a thick fall of wet snow.

 

23rd January
. Doctor Bertenson (a distinguished physician-in-ordinary) arrived from St Petersburg yesterday evening. Today clever Doctor Shchurovsky came from Moscow, and the two of them had a serious consultation with Altschuler. I shall note down their recommendations for Lev Nikolaevich:

 

Regime:

• 1. Avoid all exertion, physical and emotional.
  
• 2. Not to go for long walks. Horse-riding and climbing strictly forbidden.
  
• 3. To rest for 1 to 1½ hours every day, taking his clothes off and going to bed.
  
• 4. To have three meals a day and eat no peas, lentils or
  red cabbage
  . To drink no less than four glasses of coffee with milk every day (¼ coffee to ¾ milk). If milk is drunk on its own, it must be taken with salt (¼ teaspoonful per glass).
  

• 5. To take a bath every two weeks. The water to be 28 degrees and the soap (half a pound) to be dissolved into it. To sit in the bath for five minutes and sponge himself with clean water of the same temperature.
  

Treatment:

• 1. A twice-weekly enema made from 1 pound of oil slightly warmed, to be administered at night.
  

• 2. Glass of Karlsbad Mühlbrun, slightly warmed, to be drunk three times a day for one month.
  
• 3. Three camomile capsules a day for three days; repeat after two days, and so on.
  
• 4. Should heart medication (strophanthus) be required, this must be administered by a doctor.
  
• 5. In the eventuality of a bad nervous illness, capsules (+ Coff) should be taken for the pain.
  

If the doctor considers it necessary to give quinine under the prescribed regime, this must not be obstructed.

Lev Nikolaevich's diet must consist of: four glasses of milk and coffee a day.

Gruels: buckwheat porridge, rice, oats, semolina with milk.

Eggs: fried, whisked raw, in aspic, scrambled with asparagus.

Vegetables: carrots, turnips, celery, Brussels sprouts, baked potatoes, potato purée, pickled cabbage chopped fine (?), lettuce scalded in hot water.

Fruits: sieved baked apples, stewed fruit, raw apples chopped small; all oranges to be sucked.

All sorts of jellies and creams are good; meringues.

 

Written later, on the evening of the 23rd
. Lev Nikolaevich had a terrifying attack of angina and his temperature went up to 39°.

 

24th January
. The doctor listened to his heart this evening and diagnosed pleurisy in the left lung. Shchurovsky has returned and is treating him.

 

25th January
. They have decided it is pneumonia of the left lung, which subsequently spread to the right one too. His heart has been bad all this time.

 

26th January
. I don't know why I am writing—this is a conversation with my soul. My Lyovochka is dying…And I know now that my life cannot go on without him. I have lived with him for forty years. For others he is a celebrity, for me he is my whole existence. We have become part of each other's lives, and my God what a lot of guilt and remorse has accumulated over the years…But it is all over now,
we won't get it back. Help me, Lord. I have given him so much love and tenderness, yet my many weaknesses have grieved him! Forgive me Lord! I ask for neither strength from God nor consolation, I ask for faith and religion, God's spiritual support, which has recently helped my precious husband to live.

 

27th January
. I would like to record everything concerning my dear Lyovochka, but I cannot; I am suffocated by tears and crushed by the weight of my grief…Yesterday Shchurovsky suggested Lyovochka inhale some oxygen, and he said: “Wait a bit, first it's camphor, then it's oxygen, next it'll be the coffin and the grave.”