The Diaries of Sofia Tolstoy (7 page)

 

28th October
. My love cannot be very strong if I am so weak. But no, I love him terribly, there can be no doubt about it. If only I could raise myself up. My husband is so good, so wonderfully good. Where is he? Probably working on
The History of 1812
.* He used to tell me about his writing, but now he thinks I'm not worthy of his confidence. In the past he shared all his thoughts with me, and we had such blissful, happy times together. Now they are all gone. “We shall always be happy, Sonya,” he said. I feel so sad that he has had none of the happiness he expected and deserved.

 

13th November
. I feel sorry for Aunt—she won't last much longer. She is always sick, her cough keeps her awake at night, her hands are thin and dry. I think about her all day.

He says, let's live in Moscow for a while. Just what I expected. It makes me jealous when he finds his ideal in the first pretty woman he meets. Such love is terrible because it is blind and virtually incurable. There has never been anything of this in me, and there never will be. I am left alone morning, afternoon and night. I am to gratify his pleasure and nurse his child, I am a piece of household furniture, I am a
woman
. I try to suppress all human feelings. When the machine is working properly it heats the milk, knits a blanket, makes little requests and bustles about trying not to think—and life is tolerable. But the moment I am alone and allow myself to think, everything seems insufferable. He doesn't love me, I couldn't keep his love. In a moment of grief, which I now regret, when nothing seemed to matter but the fact that I had lost his love, I thought even his writing was pointless. What did I care what Countess So-and-So in his novel said to Princess So-and-So? Afterwards I despised myself. My life is so mundane. But he has such a rich internal life,
talent and immortality. I have become afraid of him, and at times he is a complete stranger.

 

19th December
. I've lit two candles, sat down at the table and I feel perfectly happy. Everything seems funny and unimportant. I feel like flirting, even with someone like Alyosha Gorshkoi,* or losing my temper with a chair. I played cards with Aunt for four hours, which made him furious, but I didn't care. It hurts me to think of Tanya, she's a thorn in my flesh.* But I have put even this out of my mind today. The baby is better, maybe
that's
why I am so happy. At this moment I should love to go to a
dance
or do something amusing. He is old and self-absorbed, and I am young and long to do something wild. I'd like to turn somersaults instead of going to bed. But with whom?

 

24th December
. Old age hovers over me; everything here is old. I try to suppress all youthful feelings, for they seem out of place in this sombre environment. The only one who is younger in spirit than the others is his brother Seryozha,* which is why I like it when he comes. I am gradually coming to the conclusion that Lyova wants only to restrain me; this is why he is so reserved, and why he constantly frustrates my spontaneous outbursts of love. How
can
I love him in this sober, sedate atmosphere? It's so monotonous here, so lacking in love. But I won't do anything. I complain as if I was really unhappy—but then I
am
really unhappy, for he doesn't love me so much. He actually told me so, but I knew it already. As for myself I'm not sure. I see so little of him and am in such awe of him that I can't be sure how much I love him. I dearly want to marry Tanya off to Seryozha, but it frightens me. What about Masha?* All Lyova's pronouncements on the compartments of the heart are nothing but fanciful idealism and are no comfort to me.

In London, Marx's International Workingmen's Association (the First International) formed
.

4th October—the Tolstoys' daughter, Tatyana (Tanya, Tanechka) is born. At the end of the year Tolstoy visits Moscow for an operation on his broken arm
.

 

2nd January
. My sister Tanya is all I can think about. I am worn out with grieving and planning and wrestling with it. Lyova, Aunt and I are in God's hands. Yet I desperately, passionately, want them both to be happy. I am in a dismal mood. Tula was so cheerless today, it exhausted me. I wanted to buy up the whole town, how pathetic, but I soon came to my senses. Lyova is being sweet; there was an almost childlike expression on his face when he was playing the piano. I thought of Alexandrine and understood her perfectly; I realized how much she must adore him. “Grandmother”,* he calls her. He annoyed me just now when he said, “When you're cross you talk to your diary.” What does he care? I'm not cross at the moment. Yet the slightest sarcastic remark from him hurts me terribly; he should cherish my love for him more. I am afraid of being ugly, morally and physically.

 

27th March
. My diary is covered in dust, it's so long since I opened it, and today I decided to creep off while nobody was watching and write whatever came into my head. I wanted desperately to love everyone and enjoy everything, but someone only has to brush against me when I'm in this state and it goes away. I feel a sudden trust and tenderness for my husband, perhaps because it occurred to me yesterday how easily I might lose him. Today I resolved never to think of it again, come what may. I shall refuse to listen if anybody, even he, so much as mentions it. I love my sister Tanya so much, why are they trying to ruin her? Although they needn't bother, for she'll never be spoilt. I can give her emotional support but can do almost nothing about the situation she is in. At any rate, I shall do my best to distract her. I think I am less selfish than I was a year ago. Then I moped around pregnant, depressed because I couldn't have fun with the others. Now I have my own joy and am happier than anyone else.

 

22nd April
. I am all alone. There's nothing to write about, there's no life in this place. I can control myself when I am looking after Seryozha, but in the evening, when he is asleep, I bustle about frantically as if I had a million little tasks to do, when in fact I am simply trying to avoid thinking and worrying. I keep imagining he has just gone out hunting or to look at the estate or see to the bees, and will return at any moment, for I am so used to waiting, and he always seems to return when my patience is about to give out. I am always trying to think of something unpleasant in our life together so as not to feel sorry for him, but I cannot, for the moment I think of him I realize how deeply I love him and I want to weep. The moment I catch myself thinking I am
not
sad, it's as if I deliberately make myself so. Tonight for the first time in my life I am going to bed alone. They said I should put Tanya's bed in my room but I didn't want to—I want no one but him beside me, ever. I keep thinking Tanya will hear me crying from the sitting room and I shall feel ashamed, and I haven't been so sensible all day.*

 

3rd November
. It's odd that in these happy surroundings I should be feeling so disconsolate, so filled with dread about him. Last night, and every other night too, I was stricken with such fear and grief that while I was sitting with my little girl* I cried, for I could picture his death so clearly. It started when he dislocated his arm* and I suddenly realized the possibility of losing him; ever since then I have thought of nothing else. I almost live in the nursery now, and looking after the babies sometimes distracts me. I often think he must find this female world of ours insufferably dull, and that I cannot possibly make him happy. I am a good nursemaid, nothing more. No intelligence, education or talent, nothing. I wish something would happen soon. Looking after the children and playing with Seryozha can be delightful, but deep in my heart I sense that my old happiness has fled for good and nothing can give me joy any more. I often have premonitions of his bad moods; now he secretly hates me.

6th April—“Provisional Rules” for the press (in force for the next forty years). Most books and journals exempt from preliminary censorship, but punitive censorship continues, under the control of the Ministry of the Interior. The excitement over the “great reforms” is over, and is followed by intense disillusionment. Some Land and Liberty members favour violence and form a secret society, the Organization, bent on assassinating particularly hated officials
.

June—Tanya Behrs betrothed to Sergei Tolstoy, who deserts her at the last moment for the gypsy woman with whom he has been living for many years. July—first fragment of
War and Peace (
called
The Year 1805)
published
.

 

25th February
. I am so often alone with my thoughts that the need to write my diary comes quite naturally. Today it feels wonderfully pleasant to sit alone with my thoughts, not having to reveal them to a soul. Yesterday Lyovochka said he felt very young and I understood exactly what he meant. Now I am well again and not pregnant—it terrifies me how often I have been in that state. He said that for him being young means “
I can achieve anything
”. For me it means
I want and can do anything
. When the feeling passes, reason tells me there is nothing I want or can do beyond nursing, eating, drinking, sleeping and loving and caring for my husband and babies, all of which I know is a happiness of a kind, but why do I feel so woeful all the time, and weep as I did yesterday? I am writing this now with the pleasantly exciting sense that nobody will ever read it, so I can be quite frank with myself and not write for Lyovochka. He is away at the moment; he spends so little time with me now anyway. But when I feel
young
I prefer not to be with him, for I am afraid he will find me stupid and irritating. Dunyasha* says, “The Count has grown old.” Is this true? I often annoy him, he is absorbed in his writing, but it gives him no pleasure. Can it be that he has lost his capacity for enjoyment and fun? He talks of spending next winter in Moscow. I am sure he will be happier there, and I shall try to make the best of it. I have never admitted this, but even with Lyovochka, I am sometimes unconsciously a bit devious in order that he won't see me in a bad light. I have never admitted to him
just how vain and envious I am. When we are in Moscow I shall feel ashamed if I don't have a carriage and horses with a liveried footman in attendance, a nice dress to wear, a fine apartment to live in and all the rest of it. Lyovochka is an extraordinary man; he cares nothing for any of this. That is true wisdom and virtue.

The children are my greatest joy. When I am alone I disgust myself, but they awaken the possibility of better feelings in me. Yesterday I prayed over Tanya, but I forget why. With the children I don't feel
young
, but calm and happy.

 

6th March
. Seryozha is ill. I am in a dream. Nothing is real. Better or worse, that's all I understand. Lyovochka is energetic and independent, with the strength of mind to carry on writing. I feel he is strength and life itself, and I am a worm crawling over him and feeding off him. I am afraid of being weak. My nerves have been bad and I feel ashamed. I have such reverence for him, but I realize I have fallen so low as to sometimes pounce on his weaknesses. He has gone for a walk, I am alone and everything is silent. The children are fast asleep, the big stove is burning; upstairs it's so clean and bare that the vivid scented orange blossoms seem out of place and even the sound of my own breathing frightens me. Lyovochka came in for a moment and I felt brighter. He is like a breath of fresh air.

 

8th March
. I am feeling much gayer. Seryozha is better and the illness has passed. Lyova too is better, and is in thoroughly good spirits, but to me he is cold and indifferent. I am afraid to say he
doesn't love me
. Yet the thought torments me, and that is why I feel so hesitant and bashful in my relations with him. I was in a frightful state during those sad days when Seryozha was ill. Suffering doesn't subdue me, and that is bad. I was pursued by ghastly thoughts I am frightened and ashamed to admit. As Lyovochka was treating me so coldly and was forever going out of the house, I got it into my head that he was going off to see A.* This thought has been tormenting me all day, but now Seryozha has taken my mind off it, and I feel terribly ashamed. I should know him better by now. If it were true, how could he be so open and natural with me? It must be said, however, that as long as she and I live in close proximity every bad mood or cold word from him will reduce me to an agony of jealousy. What if he were suddenly to return and tell me?…Oh, what a lot of nonsense, I ought to be ashamed. I just felt obliged to confess this terrible thought that hovers in my mind.

 

10th March
. Lyovochka has a headache; he has ridden off to Yasenki. I am not well either, and both the children have coughs and colds. For his brother's mistress Masha I nurse a “silent hatred”, as he puts it, although for her children I have a special and genuine love (not without a tinge of condescension). Lyovochka has been much more affectionate today. He actually kissed me for the first time in days. I am doing a lot of copying and am glad to be of some use.

 

14th March
. Lyovochka is playing some Chopin Preludes. He is in fine spirits, although with me he is distant and wary. The children absorb me completely. They both have diarrhoea; it's driving me frantic. Our friend Dyakov* came, still the same irrepressible “nightingale”, as Tanya calls him. I am very fond of him, and find him sympathetic and easy to talk to. I long for spring, but it's late this year. Lyovochka has been feeling the urge to visit Tula, as he apparently needs to see more people. I do too, but not people in general, just Tanya, the Zefirots,* Mother and Father.

 

15th March
. Lyovochka has gone off to Tula and I'm glad. His brother's son is dying* and I feel desperately sad. My headache is better today and I feel full of energy. The children aren't completely well yet but they're a bit better. The sun came out for a moment and its effect on me was like a waltz on a sixteen-year-old girl. I long for spring, for country walks, for summer. It's such ages since I heard from my family. What can my lovely poetic Tanya be doing? Lyovochka and I are happy and straightforward with each other again. He told me he had felt very dissatisfied with himself recently…I love him terribly, I could never become a wicked person with him. His confession, and his knowledge of himself makes me feel very humble, and forces me to search out every single one of my faults.

 

20th March
. For the past two days I have had a fever in the morning and a frightful headache. I was reading a review of
The Cossacks
when I suddenly realized it was
I
who stood in his way, and that his youth and his love were all spent, wasted on Cossack girls and other women. My children cling to me, I have given myself to them, and it is a great joy to know I am indispensable to them. When Tanya lies at my breast, or Seryozha hugs me with his little arms, I feel no jealousy, no grief, no regrets, no desires, nothing. The weather is wonderful, spring is here, but I am not destined to enjoy it. I admire Lyovochka, happy and strong in mind and body. It's a terrible thing to feel so
inferior. My only resources, my only weapons to match his, are my children, my energy, my youth, and that I am a fine healthy wife. Now I am just his mangy dog.

 

23rd March
. Lyovochka is very busy with the dairy yard, and is writing his novel* with much enthusiasm. He is bursting with ideas, but will he ever write them all down? He sometimes talks to me about his plans and ideas, which is a tremendous joy. I always understand him too.

 

26th March
. In a sudden fit of domesticity I tidied everything up—I always feel like this when I've put Seryozha and Tanya to bed. They are almost well now. Lyovochka is in a bilious mood. Today a terrible thought occurred to me: what would he do if, after taking my love and devotion for granted for so long and caring so little for my feelings, I were suddenly to grow cold towards him? It's not possible, of course, which is why I can speak of it so lightly, and why he will continue to disregard me. His brother Seryozha has spent the past few days with us. He is very unhappy at present, and I am growing extremely fond of him. It's dull and cloudy outside, but I am in a state of childish excitement and in a holiday mood. Tomorrow is Palm Saturday, a day I used to love at home. After that it will be Easter, which nowadays is just the same as any other weekday in Lent. In the past I used to cry so much, but now I am much calmer. Yesterday Seryozha said: “The only good things in life are love, music, nightingales and the moon,” and we had a long talk in which I didn't feel at all shy with him. When I talk to Lyovochka he always looks at me as if to say, “What right do you have to discuss such things? You can't
feel
it.”

 

1st April
. Lyovochka is in Tula and I am depressed and beset by morbid thoughts. He keeps complaining of blood rushes, poor digestion and buzzing ears; all this scares me dreadfully, and I am even more a prey to these fears when I'm on my own, especially on such a lovely bright spring day. The children are almost well and I have been taking them for walks, one at a time; Tanya has now seen God's world for the first time in her six-month existence. I have done nothing all day, just tried to escape my gloomy thoughts. He says bad health has shortened his life by a half. And his life is so precious. I love him intensely and it upsets me that I can't do more to make him happy. I feel no bitterness towards him, just the most total and terrifying love.

 

3rd May
. It's a terrible spring. My sister Tanya has come, and the hunting, riding and snipe-shooting have all started again. Everyone has been in good health and I was getting on well with them all, but today everything went wrong and I quarrelled with Lyova; I am a spiteful, wilful person and must mend my ways. The children are ill. I am angry with Tanya for meddling in Lyovochka's life. They go to Nikolskoe, or go off hunting, riding or walking. I actually made a jealous scene for the first time in my life yesterday. I am now bitterly regretting it. I shall let her have my horse, which I think is very nice of me. He is much too self-indulgent, though. The two of them have gone off to the woods alone to shoot snipe and I am imagining God knows what.

 

9th June
. The day before yesterday everything was settled: Tanya and his brother Seryozha are to be married. They are a joy to see. Her happiness gives me more pleasure than my own ever did. I play chaperone as they stroll about the garden together, a role that both amuses and irritates me. Because of Tanya I now love Seryozha too—it's all quite splendid. The wedding will be in twenty days or so.* I wonder how things will work out. She has loved him for a long time, she is a lovely person and has such a splendid character, and I am glad we'll be even closer friends now.

 

12th July (Nikolskoe)
. Nothing has come of it. Seryozha has betrayed Tanya. He behaved like a swine.* It has been almost a month of constant grief—it breaks my heart to look at Tanya. To think that such a sweet, poetic, talented person should be ruined. And there are symptoms of consumption, which worry me terribly. I shall never be able to write the whole sad story in my diary. But my anger with Seryozha knows no bounds. I shall do everything in my power to have my revenge on him. Tanya has behaved extraordinarily well. She loved him very much, and he deceived her into believing he loved her too. Whereas of course he loved the gypsy woman more. Masha is a good woman, and I feel sorry for her and have nothing against her. But he is loathsome. Wait a bit, wait a bit, he kept saying, and all the time he was merely toying with her emotions and mocking her feelings for him. In the end she also began to feel sorry for Masha and the children; she could stand being made a fool of no longer and she loved and pitied
him
so much—and she broke it off. And that was twelve days after they had become engaged and had kissed, and he promised her the usual silly things and made all sorts of plans. What
a brute. I shall tell everyone about it, including my children, in the hope that it will teach them never to behave like that.* My own family life is wonderfully calm and happy. What did I do to deserve such happiness? The children and Lyova have been well and he and I are on the best of terms, and outside it is gloriously warm. Summer is here, and everyone and everything is perfect. If only this vile business with Seryozha hadn't disturbed our peaceful, honest life. We have been here in Nikolskoe since 28th June, our son Seryozha's birthday. This morning a neighbour of ours called Volkov paid his first visit. He is a shy, agreeable, fair-haired, snub-nosed man, and I liked him. Life here is a series of impressions—swimming, the river, the hills, the heat, contentment of soul, red berries, Tanya's grief. I am consoled by my children and my darling Lyovochka, who is in a wonderfully poetic mood. I am happy—who knows for how long?

 

16th July
. I have quarrelled with Nurse* and feel desperately ashamed of myself, for she is a good woman. I tried to make it up and apologized to her, but one mustn't get too deeply involved with these people for they wouldn't understand. The poet Fet and his wife are here. They are pleasant people, although he is a little pompous; she is rather plain, but good-natured. Poor Tanya troubles me terribly. She is still in a daze and we fear consumption. Little Tanya too has been ill, and I have been worried about her; she is better now. She is a sweet, lively baby, and her eyes and smile are adorable. Seryozha has been naughty recently, probably because he was ill; he is generally the sweetest, most good-natured child. I was terrified by the thunderstorm today. Lyova is reading the war scenes in his novel; I don't care for these parts at all.