by Cathy Porter
At Nikolskoe with Seryozha we went for a lovely walk through some picturesque places. Guests came. Seryozha and I had a discussion about musical theory. On the train back I read a frightful book by Prévost, called Les Demi-vierges;* I felt ashamed and physically disgusted, as I always do when I read a dirty book. Love without purity is a terrible thing, yet even the noblest love is inevitably reduced to the same desire for possession and intimacy. What is so disgusting in this French book isn’t the woman’s fall, it’s her life of semi-debauchery: she doesn’t actually take the final step, but she does everything but, and that’s even worse.
At home I found that Misha had a bad attack of dysentery and there was no one to look after him, since Masha was busy with her young husband and Tanya had gone off. As for his father, well my children haven’t had a father for a long time.
Lev Nikolaevich himself was rude and unwelcoming when I got back, and I was mortified to realize yet again how uninterested he is in me and my life when I am sitting at home with the family and seeing no one.
2nd July. I was sitting in my room copying his article when Misha rushed in terrified and said: “Papa is screaming and groaning with pain!” I ran downstairs. He was sitting in his chair, bent double and groaning, with the sweat pouring off him. I at once got him into a clean shirt, then Masha, Misha and I got busy with linseed poultices, soda water and rhubarb. But it didn’t do him any good; the medicines made him vomit, and the vomiting induced excruciating pains. He didn’t sleep all night, the pain got no better, and that night I feared for his life. And I thought how dreadfully lonely I would be without him. For although I suffer because his love for me is purely physical, not emotional, he is a part of my life and I couldn’t live without him. He stroked my hair when I was changing his poultice today, and when I finished he kissed my hands, then followed me round the room with his eyes while I tidied up for him.
Doctor Rudnyov came today and said he had an excellent constitution. He had a severe catarrh of the stomach and liver, he said, but was in no danger. It will be hard to keep him on a sensible diet. It was eating all those radishes and cucumbers that made him ill in the first place, although I had begged him not to while there was an epidemic going around and he had a stomach ache. Misha is ill too—his dysentery still hasn’t cleared up; his illness makes him so sweet and childish. I went swimming. It’s warm and damp and there’s a wonderful moon—but fate has ordained that instead of walks, the wonders of nature, music and everything that makes life beautiful, I must fuss around with compresses, go without sleep, and try to conquer my longing for happiness and beauty. I finished Les Demi-vierges on my own.
3rd July. Lev Nikolaevich is better today; he has moved his bowels and is no longer in pain, and my soul is relieved of a terrible anxiety. But he stayed in bed all day. A young man came to visit him, a sectarian, and stayed talking to him for a long time.* He was extremely dogmatic and narrow-minded, like all sectarians, but has read a lot and is fascinated by abstract questions and the wisdom of the ages. He has read Epictetus, Plato, Marcus Aurelius and others, all in the Intermediary edition.
Today I left the room in which I have slept for almost 35 years and moved into Masha’s old room. I have started to want more privacy, besides it was stiflingly hot in the bedroom, and I am drenched in sweat all day as it is. This evening I walked to the Voronka on my own for a swim.
I coached Sasha for a while this morning; she has worked much better ever since I threatened to send her to the Institute. Misha is studying hard, although I am sometimes alarmed by his wild behaviour—putting out candles with his gun, making liqueurs, thumping out chords on the piano and yelling folk songs in a stupid, ugly voice. But he is only eighteen, and may become more sensitive as his soul matures. I had a cool note from Sergei Taneev to say he would be coming this Sunday. I haven’t yet told Lev Nikolaevich, and fear the news will distress him. I hope he won’t be jealous again—what a dreadful thought!
4th July. Everyone has been a lot better, but there have been more unpleasant scenes. At dinner today Misha mentioned Sergei Ivanovich’s visit, and Lev Nikolaevich flushed crimson and said: “Well that’s the first I’ve heard of it!” After dinner there were yet more painful discussions, accusations of lying and demands that I either extinguish my special feelings for Sergei Ivanovich or break off all relations with him. Both suggestions are preposterous. One cannot simply extinguish the feelings one has for a person.
5th July. Neither my tender caresses, nor my loving care, nor my patience in the face of Lev Nikolaevich’s rude and unjustified accusations can soften his rage over Sergei Ivanovich’s visit. So now I have decided to keep quiet. It is my own business after all, and concerns no one but God and my conscience.
10th July. My worst fears about Tanya have come true: she is in love with Sukhotin and they have discussed marriage. She and I came to the subject in the most natural fashion, quite by chance. She evidently felt a great need to talk about it, for she is on the road to ruin and is desperately seeking salvation. She has also spoken to Lev Nikolaevich. When I first told him he was stunned and suddenly looked wizened with grief—only it wasn’t grief, it was despair. Tanya has been weeping a lot, she seems to realize now that this marriage would bring her nothing but grief, and has written to refuse him.
My relations with Lev Nikolaevich have improved again.
13th July. Sergei Ivanovich left today. The past few days have been peaceful and happy. He played several times. The first time, on the evening of the 10th, Lev Nikolaevich had gone in to Tanya to talk about Sukhotin, and I begged him to play a Mozart sonata for me. We were alone in the drawing room, and it was wonderfully peaceful. He played two sonatas—what joy! Then he played the lovely andante from his own symphony, which I heard in Moscow and love so much.
Later that evening, when everyone had gathered for tea, he played again, a Chopin sonata. Nobody in the world plays like he does. What nobility, what integrity, what a sense of timing. Sometimes it’s as though he forgets himself, abandons himself, reaches out for something beyond himself, and then he captivates his audience. The next morning, the 11th, he played again—a Beethoven rondo, Mozart’s variations on a theme of ‘Ah! Vous dirai-je maman’, some Schubert, Marguerite’s song from Faust and a Polonaise and Ballade by Chopin.
He was obviously trying to choose pieces that would appeal to Lev Nikolaevich. His playing tore me apart; when he had finished the Polonaise I could no longer hold back the tears, and was shaken by sobs. Yesterday, at midday, he again played the Chopin sonata.
Today the weather broke. I have spent such a happy week with Sergei Ivanovich. We took two walks to the Belgian foundry, and one to Gorelaya Polyana by the roundabout route, and went swimming under the bridge by the main road. We strolled over to the mines, and through the lovely Zaseka woods, and yesterday we walked through Lemon Groves to Kochak and back again. Every day we made up a party to go swimming. Turkin and I took photographs of everyone, and most of mine came out very well indeed. I took a lot of Sergei Ivanovich, and Lev Nikolaevich didn’t mind so much this time. In fact he has suddenly grown calm and kind. Yesterday he went for a spin on his bicycle and rode his horse, and he didn’t once lose his temper with me. But why should he? What possible harm can there be in my friendship with this pure, kind, talented man? How sad it is that our relations have been spoilt ruined by Lev Nikolaevich’s jealousy!
Tanya has had a reply from Sukhotin—he has doubtless written her all those sentimental banalities with which he has already seduced many another woman! Masha and I wept today for this mad, blind love of hers.
Andryusha visited us on his way from Moscow. He stayed only an hour, but it’s always the same thing with him—give me money, give me money!
14th July. I have been developing photographs all day, making prints of the ones people have asked for. Misha started talking to me today with unwonted frankness and passion about his tormenting sexual urges, which are making him feel ill; he longed to remain pure, he said, but feare
d he would succumb. My poor boys! They have no father, and what advice can I give them in these matters? I know nothing of this side of a man’s life. Lev Nikolaevich is in high spirits; he was telling me about his cycle ride to Tula to attend a meeting of the cycle club, where they discussed races and various bicycle matters. Yet another interest of his!
15th July. I got up late, developed prints, then went swimming with Sasha and her governess. Afterwards I did more developing and gave Sasha her lesson, which went very well.
I thought a lot about Sergei Ivanovich. I long passionately for music, and to play myself. But there’s never any time, and Lev Nikolaevich is always working or sleeping, and every sound disturbs him. I try to convince myself that true happiness comes from fulfilling one’s duty, and I force myself to copy out his writings and do all my other duties, but sometimes I weaken, and yearn for some personal happiness, a private life and work of my own, rather than constantly toiling for others as I have done all my life…
16th July. I got up late today, as I had stayed up copying until 3 a.m. I went on with it all morning until dinner time, then went out to the apple orchard to watch the gardener grafting trees, and walked through the plantation with him, giving him various essential instructions. I picked some russula mushrooms on my way back, and came across the man who has rented the orchard from us. I shouted at him disgracefully for failing to prop up the trees, which means many of them have collapsed.
17th July. I did more copying and developed more photographs. I gave them all away today, and shall soon abandon this hobby. We went for a swim. Later we had a visit from the Shenshins, our neighbours from Sudakovo, and went for a walk with them around the plantation and to the bathing hut. It was a marvellous evening, the deep-pink sun setting against the pure bright sky. Tanya was sad, Lyovochka somewhat distant—and I was sad at heart. Misha went off to bless Ivan the servant’s baby daughter. Sasha is making jam for Masha and has written her composition. She giggles all day, and is fat, red and rude to everyone. Masha and Kolya were here and played tennis.
My granddaughter Annochka arrived with her Russian governess. My daughter-in-law Sonya is arriving tomorrow with the 3 boys, and Ilya will be here on Saturday. They all leave Ilya’s estate now whenever the neighbours come round for a drinking bout. I love and admire Sonya for trying to remove Ilya and her family from this hideous immorality.
18th July. Tanya was sitting in the drawing room today weeping bitterly. Maria Schmidt and I came in and started crying too. Poor thing! She doesn’t love Sukhotin boldly, joyfully, as young people love when they have faith in the future and the feeling that everything is possible, everything is happy and the world is theirs. She is almost 33 and is morbidly in love with an old, weak-willed man of 48! I know those morbid feelings, when love doesn’t light up God’s world but darkens it—when it is wrong and even evil, but one hasn’t the strength to change things. God help us!
Sonya is here with my grandchildren. I am delighted to see them, but alas they cannot fill my life. All my love for my own children has run dry, and I can no longer live only for them. The three little boys went to bed and the others drove off to Ovsyannikovo, and I went to practise the piano. But then Obolensky arrived with young Count Sheremetev and interrupted me. I am always being disturbed, and it is very painful and annoying.
Both Lev Nikolaevich and I have stomach aches today and feel under the weather. I attended to a lot of business—wrote to the Samara steward and the newspaper announcing the appearance of the new edition, drafted a petition to the president of the local zemstvo about the neglected state of the apple trees, sent some books off to Lyova, sorted out various business papers and passports and sent them to Moscow, wrote back to Loewenfeld in Berlin, made a list of the things I had to do in Tula tomorrow, and so on and so on. All these things have to be done, but oh, how tedious, how tedious they are!
20th July. I did no writing yesterday. First I played with my grandchildren, then I stayed up late working on some photographs that had come out unsuccessfully. Today was a day of disasters. Sasha pinched Annochka and Tanya lost her temper with her. Sasha then burst into tears and wouldn’t come down for dinner. I was angry with her for spoiling Ilyusha’s name-day dinner and shouted at her to come down, threatening to punish her if she didn’t. She came eventually, but cried all through dinner and wouldn’t eat a thing. I remembered how darling little Vanechka used to suffer when Sasha was unhappy—he couldn’t bear to see another person suffer—and I felt so sad, so sad. I wasn’t particularly sorry for Sasha though, for I had heard her tormenting Nurse from three rooms away while she was dressing for dinner.
I played the piano for an hour yesterday and today, and it’s not enough! I get no better at it, but it’s good for my nerves and as a pastime.
21st July. I dreamt of Vanechka yesterday, lying in bed looking so thin, stretching out his pale little hand to me. Today I dreamt of Sergei Ivanovich. He was lying in bed too, smiling and stretching out his arms to me.
Masha told me Ilya was mortified to discover that my intimacy with S.I. was the talk of Kiev—he said they were all discussing it at my sister Tanya’s and the Filosofovs’. Public opinion is so odd! Why should it be wrong to love someone? I’m not at all troubled by this gossip. I am happy and proud to have my name associated with such a fine, moral, kind, gifted man. My conscience is clear before God, my husband and my children; I am as pure in soul, body and thought as a newborn child. I know that I have never loved anyone as deeply and intensely as I love Lev Nikolaevich, and never shall. Whenever I see him somewhere unexpectedly I always feel so happy—I love his personality, his eyes, his smile, the way he talks, which is never the slightest bit vulgar (except when he is angry, of course, but I won’t mention that), and his perpetual desire for perfection.
22nd July. Lev Nikolaevich was ill again last night. He had a violent gastric upset in the middle of the night and was vomiting continuously for four hours. He wasn’t in great pain however, and towards morning it stopped. He ate an unbelievable quantity of baked potatoes yesterday and drank kvas* even though he had a stomach ache, and the day before yesterday he had had nothing but Ems water and a peach. His lack of self-control and ignorance of hygienic matters is remarkable in one so clever.
Seryozha came and played the piano charmingly.
Today he said: “Maman is in her second childhood. I shall give her a doll and maybe a china tea set too.” That may sound very funny, but in fact it’s anything but funny, it’s tragic. I never had time to do anything for myself, I’ve always had to subordinate my energy and time to the demands of my husband and children at any given moment. And now old age has crept up on me and I have used up all my mental and physical strength on my family, and have remained a child, as Seryozha says.
23rd July. Ilya and Andryusha arrived this morning with Misha’s new tutor, Sobolev, who has come to replace Turkin. How I miss Turkin! This man is an enthusiastic chemist, a lively free-and-easy man, who had a long discussion with Seryozha about chemistry and the university. Andryusha has squandered all his money on the gypsies again and has borrowed 300 rubles. I am depressed and disgusted at his appalling life. What will become of him? He has already gone to the bad, and worst of all he has taken to drink, and he’s a complete daredevil when he is drunk. Ilyusha came into my room today and accused me of having changed, of no longer loving the children and shutting myself off from them. I denied this and reminded them (Tanya, Sonya and Andryusha were there too) that I had spent my entire life labouring for the children, copying for their father and being constantly at his beck and call. I reminded them of that dreadful time just after Vanechka was born. Lyova was taking his final examinations, the boys had no governess, and I was having to feed my poor sick baby with aching breasts, see to the spring cleaning, look for tutors, do the packing—when I was still weak from the birth—and Lev Nikolaevich had set off on foot for Yasnaya and abandoned me, ignoring my tears and pleas for help. I reminded them of all the difficulties, sleepless nights,
tears and doubts I had endured, all the years I had moved to the city in the spring so as not to abandon my boys while they were taking their examinations—and now all I got was reproaches and criticisms. I had listened long enough, I wasn’t going to justify myself any longer, I couldn’t endure any more—and I burst into tears.
They were attacking me about Sergei Ivanovich too. Well, let them! This man has brought such richness and joy into my life; he has opened the door to the world of music, and it was through hearing him play that I found happiness and consolation. His music brought me back to life after Vanechka’s death, when life had deserted me. His gentle happy presence has soothed my soul, and even now I feel so peaceful, so comfortable, after I have seen him. And they all think I am in love with him! How quick they are to cheapen one’s feelings. Why, I’m far too old—it would be quite inappropriate.
24th July. This evening Ilya, Andryusha, Lev Nikolaevich and Vaka Filosofov played tennis, my grandsons ran around brandishing whips, and Tanya, Sonya and I kept an eye on them and followed the game. But I don’t like sitting still for long, so I got a saw and some secateurs and cut off the dry and dead branches on the avenue. When I got back I had a serious talk with Ilya, Andryusha and Vaka, warning them all of the evils of alcohol and strongly urging them not to touch it. All my sons’ failings and mistakes have been due to the excesses of wine. Tanya went to Tula to see Sukhotin and came back in lively spirits; but I find this forced cheerfulness very sad. Our darling is walking towards her ruin. Will she turn back in time? Oh how sad it is, how sad!
