The Diaries of Sofia Tolstoy

by Cathy Porter

  That evening I packed my things and the children’s and collected my papers, and on the evening of Sunday 1st September the boys and I travelled to Moscow. I am still beset with doubts and fears as to whether I have done the right thing, but I really had no choice. Just before we set off, Lyova told me the most terrible story about my nephew Misha Kuzminsky, who has sinned with Mitechka’s wet nurse—and my boys apparently know all the details. One blow after another. My heart was filled with disgust, grief for my sister and anxiety for my innocent boys. The pain went with me when I left, and was with me throughout my stay in Moscow. But material worries and the need to help the boys in their new life had a somewhat soothing effect on me. Lyova told me my sister had taken the news very hard and was in despair, and Tanya was hurt because she felt my response was cool and insufficiently sympathetic. But this was unfair. Calm compassion can be just as genuine as passionate sympathy, which is all very well at the time, but may last no longer than a couple of days.

  I stayed with them in Moscow for two weeks, had the house papered and painted, the furniture reupholstered and the rooms rearranged, made sure the children had settled in, and then left. My three sons are still there, with their tutors M. Borel and Alexei Mitrofanovich.

  I arrived home on the morning of the 15th, and that same morning Lyovochka accused me of leaving the children “in a cesspit”. Another argument flared up, but it soon calmed down for this was no time for quarrels. I told Tanya how disgusted I was with Misha, and mentioned the possibility of us living apart until the following summer—Lyova had assured me that this would be best for the children’s sake, but I found the idea terribly painful, and I knew Tanya would too. She flushed and said: “Don’t, Sonya! You’ve made me suffer quite enough as it is.” So we have decided to leave it until next spring, and see how Misha behaves in the meantime. Then Lyovochka and I discussed the letter he had written to the newspaper on the 16th, renouncing the copyright on the articles published in Volumes 12 and 13. The source of all he does is vanity, the greed for fame and the desire for people to talk about him all the time. Nobody will persuade me otherwise.

  Then that evening a letter arrived from Leskov with a cutting from New Times, headed ‘L.N. Tolstoy and the Famine’. Leskov had taken extracts referring to the famine from a letter Lyovochka had written to him, and had allowed them to be published. Lyovochka’s letter was extremely clumsy in parts, and quite unsuitable for publication.* He was terribly upset that they had printed it, and didn’t sleep that night. Next morning he said he was tormented by thoughts of the famine; we should organize canteens where the hungry could be fed, he said, but above all people should take some personal initiatives. He hoped I would donate money (after his letter renouncing the copyright, which meant there wouldn’t be any! What one is to make of him!) and said he was going immediately to Pirogovo to organize and publicize the campaign. Since he couldn’t write about something of which he had no first-hand experience, he would start by setting up two or three canteens, with the help of his brother and some local landlords, and then publicize them.

  Before going off he said to me: “Please don’t imagine I’m only doing this to be talked about. It’s just that one cannot stand aside and do nothing.”

  Yes indeed, if he were doing it because his heart bled for the suffering of the starving, I would throw myself on my knees before him and give him everything I had. But I don’t feel, and never have, that he was speaking from the heart. Well at least he can move people’s hearts with his pen and his brain!

  Yesterday my husband again aroused violent passions in me; today everything is bright, holy, quiet and good. Purity and clarity—these are my ideals.

  8th October. I couldn’t wait, and went to Moscow to collect the boys. It happened like this: my sister Tanya and I had a falling out over the Misha business. She thought I didn’t show her enough sympathy or concern, and I was very hard on Misha, for I was furious with him for corrupting my boys. Tanya left for Moscow and I decided to accompany her. Everyone was well at home, and Liza Obolenskaya and her daughter Masha were staying. On 26th September we set off. Our own separate carriage was attached to the train at Tula, the Tsar’s suite was made available to us at the station, and Zinoviev saw us off. In Moscow my three boys soon returned from an exhibition in a lively, cheerful mood, and on Saturday the 28th I took them back to Yasnaya with me.

  Now the nerves of my heart are so exhausted that I had an asthma attack and neuralgia in my temple. I cannot sleep, speak, enjoy myself, do my work—nothing. I go off and weep for hours on end, weeping for everything that has happened to me, weeping for this period of my life that is over. And if I was asked what was at the heart of my grief, I would say it was Lyovochka’s lack of affection. We were talking about the various letters we had written and he started by reading his—to some dark ones. I asked him where Popov was, and Zolotaryov, and Khokhlov. The former is a retired officer of Oriental appearance, and the other two are young men from the merchant class. All of them call themselves disciples of Lev Nikolaevich. “Well, Popov is with his mother,” he replied, “because that was what she wanted. Khokhlov is at the technological institute, because that was what his father wanted. And Zolotaryov is stuck in some small town in the south with his father, who is an Old Believer, and is having a very hard time of it!”

  So they are all having a “hard time”, living with their parents because that is what their parents want. Now I know that this Popov, whose mother is an extremely coarse woman, found it hard to live with his good and beautiful wife, so he left her. He then went to live with Chertkov for a while, but Chertkov couldn’t abide him and he found it hard there too. I know for a fact that Lyovochka has a “hard time” living with me—his peculiar principles make it hard for him wherever he is and whoever he’s with. There have been a number of Tolstoyan communities, but they all collapsed because people had such a “hard time” living together. It was on this unpleasant note that our discussion ended.

  I was looking at an earlier passage in my diary, where I wrote about Lyovochka and Tanya’s visit to the famine-stricken areas around Pirogovo.* Lyovochka’s brother Seryozha greeted them very coldly and said they had come to lecture him: you’re much richer than I am, you can afford to help, he said, I am a pauper, and so on and so on. Lyovochka and Tanya travelled on to the Bibikovs’, where they wrote down the names of all the starving people. Tanya stayed with the Bibikovs while Lyovochka went on to visit Svechin and a certain woman landowner.* This woman and Bibikov both responded very coolly to the idea of canteens for the starving. They are preoccupied with their own affairs and say they have no money to spare, although the Svechins were more sympathetic.

  When they came back and announced that they wouldn’t be going to Moscow but would be spending the winter on the steppes, I was appalled. This means us being separated all winter, them living 15 miles from the nearest station—with his indigestion and bad intestines—the little girls alone in the middle of nowhere, and me endlessly worrying about them. I felt particularly crushed by the news since, with a great deal of pain and effort, we had just settled one question, and I had agreed, so as to make it easier for Lyovochka to live in Moscow, that he should print his announcement about Volumes 12 and 13. It made me quite ill. And on top of this, Lyova wrote urging us all to remain in Yasnaya, saying my presence in Moscow would disturb the three boys in their studies and that I wasn’t needed there. This was yet another grief. For 29 years I have lived only for my family, denying myself all the joys and pleasures of youth, and now nobody needs me. I have cried so much recently! I suppose I must be very bad, yet I have loved so much, and love is said to be a noble feeling…

  I have no idea what Lyovochka and the girls intend to do. Personally I have doubts about these canteens. It’s the free, strong, healthy people who will go there for food, while the children and old people, the pregnant women and those with babies won’t go, and it’s they who need it most.

  Before Lyovochka published his statement abo
ut the copyright, I had intended to give 2,000 rubles to the starving; I wanted to choose one district and give every starving family there so many pounds of flour, bread or potatoes per month. Now I simply don’t know what to do. If I do donate money it will be for Seryozha to dispose of, for he is the secretary of our local Red Cross. He has a clear duty to do famine-relief work; he is free, young and honest, and is here on the spot.

  16th October. It was snowing all day. I drove to Tula in the large sledge, harnessed to a pair of horses, and when I came back it was 8° below freezing. Some gypsies had put up their tents and were camping just outside our estate, with children, hens, pigs, about 40 horses and a large crowd of people. The girls went to see them and brought them back to the side kitchen. Last night Lyovochka sent off his article ‘On the Famine’ to Grot’s journal Questions of Philosophy and Psychology.* Sasha and Vanya have just drawn lots for the property: Sasha drew her own, and got the left half of Bistrom. Vanechka drew for Misha and Andryusha; Misha has got the land at Tuchkov and Andryusha the right half of Bistrom and…

  The directors of the St Petersburg theatres have refused to hand over the royalties for The Fruits of Enlightenment, and I was furious with them and with Lev Nikolaevich for depriving me of the pleasure of giving this money to the starving. Yesterday I wrote to the Minister of the Court, Vorontsov, requesting that this money be paid to me, but I don’t know what will come of it.* We are packing our things and preparing for the journey to Moscow. Wherever I look—in our family, all over the place—I see nothing but arguments and strife. Everything and everyone is oppressed by this famine.

  19th October. Petya Raevsky is here, as well as Popov (a dark one) and some other itinerant intellectual, sent here by Syutaev. A glum, dissatisfied, disillusioned, sickly fellow.* Lyovochka is strangely, selfishly cheerful—physically cheerful, but not emotionally.

  12th November. I have been in Moscow since 22nd October, with Andryusha, Misha, Sasha and Vanya. On the 26th my husband Lyovochka left with his daughters for the Dankovsky district to visit I.I. Raevsky at his estate in Begichevka, and on the 25th my son Lyova left for the village of Patrovka, in the province of Samara. We all had one thing on our mind: to help the starving people. For a long time I didn’t want them to go, and hated the idea of parting with them, but I knew in my heart that this had to be and at last agreed. I even sent them 500 rubles when they had gone, on top of the 250 I had already given then; Lyova took just 300 and I sent another 100 to the Red Cross.* But how little this is compared to what is needed! I felt terribly homesick when I arrived in Moscow, and was in the most frightful emotional state. Words cannot describe how I felt. My health was shattered and I was close to suicide.

  One night I was lying in bed unable to sleep, and I suddenly decided to issue a public appeal for charity. The next morning I jumped out of bed, wrote a letter to the editors of the Russian Gazette and set off at once to deliver it. On the following day, Sunday, it was published. Suddenly I began to feel well and cheerful again. Donations poured in from all sides. I was so moved by people’s compassion; some were crying when they brought the money in. Between the 3rd and the 12th I received no less than 9,000 rubles, of which I sent 1,273 to Lyovochka, and 3,000 yesterday to Pisaryov to buy rye and maize. I am now waiting to hear from Seryozha and Lyova, who will tell me what to do with the rest of the money. All morning I receive donations, record it in the books and talk to people, and it is all very absorbing. But there are times when I suddenly lose heart and long to see Lyovochka and Tanya, even Masha, although I know she is always much happier when she is away from me.

  Andryusha and Misha are studying at the Polivanov gymnasium; Misha is doing poorly, Andryusha is average. I always feel sorry for them; I want to cheer them up and entertain them, and in general am prone to spoil them, which is no good. I was sitting down to dinner with the children today when I thought how selfish, fat and sleepy our bourgeois city existence was, without contact with the people, never doing anything for others! I couldn’t eat. I felt so wretched thinking of all those at that moment dying of hunger, while the children and I were mentally dying in this atmosphere, without any useful work to do. But what can we do?

  I received a reply from the Minister of the Court. In view of the fact that I want the money for charity, he has promised to give me the royalties on The Fruits of Enlightenment, and I have written to the director about this.

  1892

  Famine encourages formation of populist groups, who join liberals in calling for some form of representative government.

  December to January—Sofia Tolstoy again joins Tolstoy in setting up canteens in famine-stricken areas. Government campaign against Tolstoy intensifies, with local priests exhorting peasants to refuse his bread.

  16th February. I decided to visit Begichevka myself with Lyovochka and Masha, leaving Tanya in Moscow to look after the boys. The day we left, someone brought us an article in issue 22 of the Moscow Gazette. They had paraphrased Lyovochka’s article ‘On the Famine’ (written for Questions of Philosophy and Psychology), treated it as a proclamation and declared him to be a revolutionary.* Lyovochka and I sat down and wrote a denial, which he made me sign, then we set off.

  On 24th January we caught the train from Tula to Kletkotka, travelling on the desolate Syzran—Vyazma line. On the train I had asthma and a nervous attack. Lyovochka was restless and taciturn, and kept going to the corridor. The weather was ghastly; it was raining and thawing, a heavy grey sky bore down on us and a fierce wind howled. We finished the journey in two sledges: Masha, Maria Kirillovna and Fedot, the Raevskys’ cook, in one, and Lyovochka and I in the other, which was smaller. It was dark and eerie and very cramped. Masha was sick the entire journey and I was worried Lyovochka would catch cold in the wind.

  It was night when we got there. We were met at the Begichevka house by Ilya, Gastev, Persidskaya, Ilya’s sister-in-law Natasha and Velichkina.* Ilya was in a strange, jumpy mood, terrified of seeing the ghost of Raevsky. He left the following morning, and we stayed on with our two women volunteers.

  Lyovochka and I lived in one room. I took on all the bookkeeping and tried to put it in some order, then went to inspect the canteens. I went into one hut; there were about ten people there, but there were soon about 48. They were all in rags, wretched and thin-faced. They came in, crossed themselves and sat down quietly. Two tables had been moved together, with long benches to sit on. There was a basket filled with slices of rye bread. This was taken round by the serving woman, and everyone took one slice. Then she put a big dish of cabbage broth on the table. There was no meat in it, just a bit of hemp oil. The young boys all sat together on one side of the table, laughing and enjoying their meal. Afterwards they get potato stew or peas, wheat gruel, oat porridge or beetroot. They generally have two dishes for lunch and two for supper. We drove out to inspect various canteens. At first I wasn’t sure what people really thought of them. In the second canteen I visited I met a pale peasant girl who looked at me with such sadness that I almost burst into tears. It cannot be easy for her, or the old man with her, or any of them, to accept this charity. “Lord, let us give and not take”—how true the old saying is. Then I began to feel easier in my mind about the canteens, without which things would have been so much worse.

  The hardest thing for us is having to decide which people are the neediest, who should go to the canteens, who should get the firewood and clothes that have been donated, and so on. When I made my list a few days ago there were 86 canteens. Now as many as a hundred have been opened. The other day Lyovochka and I drove out to the neighbouring hamlets; it was perfect weather, bright and clear. First we visited the mill and enquired about the grinding; then we called in on another food store where we told them to release the millet (from Orlovka) and made general enquiries about distribution; and finally we opened a canteen in Kulikovka, where there had been a fire. We visited the village elder, asked him which families were the poorest, and told him to call the other elders and peasants to a counc
il meeting. They came in and sat down on benches, and we began by asking them which families were worst off, then decided how many people per family were to be fed. While I was taking down their names, Lyovochka told them to come on Tuesday to fetch their provisions, and suggested to the elder’s wife that she set up a canteen in her own house for the victims of the fire.

  We got back at dusk. On one side the red sun was setting, and on the other the moon was rising. We drove along the steppes, following the course of the Don. It is a flat, bleak place, but there are several old and new estates picturesquely scattered along the banks of the river.

  In the mornings I helped the tailor make coats for the men from material people had donated. I managed to do 23. The boys were delighted with their new coats and fur jackets. They were warm and new—some of them have never in their life had such a thing.

  I stayed in Begichevka for 10 days.

  When I got back to Moscow I heard more and more reports about Lyovochka’s letters to England about the famine, and had letters from St Petersburg saying they had threatened to send us into exile, urging me to go there immediately and do something about it. I delayed doing anything for a long time as I had to visit the dentist almost the whole of that week. But eventually I wrote to Durnovo, Minister of Internal Affairs, and Plehve, his deputy, explaining the true facts, refuting the lie put about by the Moscow Gazette. They refused to publish my denials in the newspapers, even though I had written to the Government Herald.* So I made an appointment to see Grand Duke Sergei Alexandrovich, and asked him to order them to publish my denials. He said that it wasn’t in his power, and that Lev Nikolaevich should himself write to the Government Herald, to “soothe excited minds and satisfy the Emperor”. So I wrote to Lyovochka begging him to do so. I have just received his letter today,* and have sent it off to the Government Herald. I am now waiting to hear whether or not it will be published.