by Cathy Porter
Sergei Ivanovich came, and it was all wonderfully straightforward and natural. He talked in my room with Seryozha about some musical translation, and Seryozha was asking him various questions.*
L.N. announced today that he was leaving for the country to see Ilyusha the day after tomorrow, that it was a great strain for him to live in town and that he had 1,400 rubles he wanted to give to the needy. It was all perfectly reasonable of him, but I felt so wretched at the thought of living here on my own with horrid Sasha, and Misha, who is never here, that I burst into tears and pleaded with him not to leave yet and to stay just one more week. If only he knew how fragile my soul is, how terrified I am of myself; I am terrified of suicide, despair, my desire to be entertained…Everything terrifies me, and mainly I terrify myself…I don’t know whether he’ll listen to my entreaties. He is always insisting that he only lives in Moscow for my sake, and that it’s torture for him! Which is to say I torture him. Yet he is far gloomier in Yasnaya Polyana, and I know that despite what he says he actually finds city life very interesting and entertaining and it only occasionally tires him.
16th April. Lev Nikolaevich was sculpted today by Prince Trubetskoy, who has come from Italy and is in fact an Italian citizen. He is apparently considered a very good sculptor. Nothing visible so far. He has made a start on a huge bust. L.N. is being kind to me again and we are on good terms. Yesterday evening my nerves were in a terrible state—almost abnormal.
18th April. Lyova has come. He has decided to sell the house* through some broker, without consulting me in advance. Any sort of trouble or change terrifies me at present. And I am very sorry about this house, as I had reserved it for myself, and shall now be left almost penniless, with money owing on the new edition. It would cost me a great deal to buy this house too—almost 58,000 rubles. Trubetskoy has done more work on his sculpture of Lev Nikolaevich, and I can now see how exceptionally talented he is.
19th April. Tanya had an extremely painful operation on her nose. They pulled out a tooth and got through the opening to her nose to let out the pus. She is now very ill, weak and pale. I feel so sorry for her and long to stroke her, comfort her and kiss her, but one never does, and just feels wretched instead. I dismissed Mlle Aubert today and hired a new governess for Sasha, who is much quieter already. Trubetskoy is still working on his bust of Lev Nikolaevich, and it’s extremely good—majestic, distinctive and lifelike.
We had a visit from S.T. Morozov, an ailing merchant who has just finished a course at the university and wants to lead a better life. He gave Lev Nikolaevich 1,000 rubles for the starving peasants. On Wednesday I am going with L.N. to visit Ilya at Grinevka, where L.N. will stay and help the poverty-stricken peasants in the surrounding countryside.
21st April. L.N. and I were going to leave for Nikolskoe and Grinevka yesterday to see our sons, and I was so excited by it all—the trip, the spring and our grandchildren. But we decided to postpone it again until tomorrow evening, as Trubetskoy hadn’t finished his bust and it was so good it seemed a pity not to let him do so. He has caught perfectly the tilt of the head, the expression of the eyes and body—it is beautifully and expressively conceived, although I am disturbed by that unfinished quality the sculptor is so pleased about. Lev Nikolaevich is in a great hurry to leave, as he has 2,000 rubles in charitable donations, which he wants to give to the peasants in the most poverty-stricken areas.
I visited the notary and the bank this morning, and when I got back I packed my things and my husband’s. (I had laid in a good stock of vegetarian supplies, bread and so on.) Sergei Ivanovich called this evening, and L.N. and he had a fascinating and very lively conversation in which Trubetskoy also took part. They talked about art and the Conservatoire, about how short life is and how best to make use of one’s time so as to spend each moment profitably—for work, service, people (I put that in myself) and happiness. I was delighted to see that L.N. no longer treated this marvellous man as an enemy.
29th April. Trubetskoy finished his bust of Lev Nikolaevich on the 23rd, and it is excellent. That evening L.N. and I left for Grinevka. We travelled first class; it was very crowded. That evening on the train I heated up some porridge for L.N. that I had brought ready-cooked. First he said he would do it himself and grabbed the hot saucepan lid, burning his fingers. I offered to get him some water to ease the pain and he stubbornly refused. But without saying anything I bought him a mug of water anyway, and the moment he dipped in his fingers he felt better. But it meant he slept badly that night.
In Grinevka we were met by our sons Ilya and Andryusha on horseback, and by our grandchildren Annochka and Misha, who were on foot. It was delightful to see them again and arrive in their village. L.N. set to work at once. He travelled round the villages making enquiries about the famine. It is worst of all in Nikolskoe and the Mtsensk district. They eat bread there once a day and that’s not enough, and the cattle have either been sold or eaten or are frightfully thin. There is no disease. L.N. is organizing canteens.* We sent Andryusha off to Oryol to discover the price of bread. We walked around Grinevka a lot. I read some French with Annochka, sewed for the boys, looked after all four children and did some painting and drawing with them. I also had to keep an eye on their atrocious cook to make sure he didn’t prepare anything too horrible for Lev Nikolaevich. But Ilya and Sonya’s housekeeping is so wretchedly meagre and inadequate. I don’t mind, but I am afraid Lev Nikolaevich’s stomach won’t tolerate the bad food and he’ll fall ill.
I didn’t at all like Ilya’s behaviour at home. He takes no interest in the children, he is rude to the peasants, he has no serious interests and cares for nothing but horses. Sonya on the other hand is kind to the peasants, gives them medical treatment and takes the trouble to see they are properly fed, and distributes flour and buckwheat to the women and children.
We also visited our son Seryozha in Nikolskoe. He is still wretchedly miserable. He keeps busy with his music and has written a lovely song, which Sonya sang very sweetly for us with her attractive young voice.
L.N. wasn’t in a happy state. There was something dispirited and despondent about our relations, which saddened me very much. And I couldn’t have been gentler or more attentive to him.
I was sorry to have to leave him in Grinevka. But then perhaps it’s better for us to part for a while!
On my way back to Moscow I stopped briefly at Yasnaya Polyana, and after Grinevka I was in ecstasies over the beauty of the Yasnaya countryside. I dashed about the garden and woods, picking lungwort and planting saplings in the park, then I tidied the house and prepared a room for Lev Nikolaevich.
On the 28th, yesterday, there was the first thunderstorm and the first cuckoo. The trees are turning green, and there is cheerful hard work on all sides, planting the kitchen garden, digging round the apple trees and clearing the orchards. Dora and Lyova were friendly and cheerful. She is a lovely woman, cultured and even-tempered. They too are digging their newly laid-out little garden and decorating the house, in readiness for her confinement and the arrival of her parents.
I returned to Moscow this morning…and am wretched here. Sergei Nikolaevich came with his daughter Masha. Lyovochka will be sorry to have missed his brother.
1st May. I didn’t write yesterday, my life is empty. This morning a pupil from the 1st Gymnasium called Veselkin brought round 18 rubles and 50 kopecks, which his comrades had collected to give to the starving. These contributions from young souls and poor people move one to tears. Then Brashnin’s widow brought 203 rubles, and a woman called Kopteva from Zurich sent me another 200. I am sending it all on to Lev Nikolaevich.
I had a letter today from Sonya saying that L.N. was fit and well and was continuing to travel around visiting the needy, but I still haven’t had a word from him. My warm feelings for him are again beginning to cool. I have written him two letters, filled with sincere love and expressing my desire for spiritual closeness, and he hasn’t written me so much as a word!
5th May. I had two letters f
rom L.N. today. He is cheerful and well, thank God. He says he has opened eight canteens and has no more money. It always seemed to me that it was enough to feed one or two people—not several hundred. But today nine canteens suddenly seemed so paltry when one thinks of all the millions of poor people. We haven’t appealed for money, as L.N. isn’t strong enough to do all the work, but if we did, people would certainly send us a lot.
10th May. This morning I read proofs, then went to collect theatre tickets, then on to the Dunaevs’ to try to find an assistant for Lev Nikolaevich in his famine work. They suggested Strakhov, who would be excellent. Today I read Chertkov’s letter to L.N. The whole letter is unnatural—all the same old arguments about the struggle with the flesh, money and the sin of possessing it, but the fact is he is in debt all over the place, and is asking Tanya for a loan of 10,000 rubles.*
It’s such hypocrisy, that’s what I can’t endure. Which of us does not struggle with our passions? And what a struggle it is too! Sometimes you feel it is draining you of all your strength, and you have none left. What sort of passions do they have anyway? They’re all so dull and austere…Besides, if you have passions you should keep quiet about them, not perpetually shout about them.
This evening I went to the theatre with Seryozha, Andryusha and Sasha to see a benefit performance of Der Freischütz, which the Conservatoire students had put on to raise money for the starving. I was sitting in the second row of the stalls, the same row as Sergei Ivanovich.
19th May (Yasnaya Polyana). A lot of coming and going these last few days. I packed up and moved the whole house, Sasha, and her new Swiss governess, Mlle Kothing, to Yasnaya. The servants all left Moscow on 15th May, and Sasha and I arrived at the empty Yasnaya house on the morning of the 16th. This is the second year I have come here like this! The horses, the cow, the grand piano and the boxes arrived later the same day, and we all threw ourselves into unpacking and tidying up; we had dinner and supper with Lyova and Dora, who made us very welcome. I was off again to Grinevka to see Lev Nikolaevich on the morning of the 17th, and was delighted to see him and my children and grandchildren. But my warm feelings are always drowned in cold water. When I arrived, Lev Nikolaevich had some sectarian sitting with him to whom he was reading his article. My arrival interrupted him, and he was slightly cross about this, although he tried hard not to show it. I went out for a long walk in the garden with my darling little grandsons Misha and Andryusha, and we wandered all over the place while I told them nature stories about the flowers, the apple trees and the insects. I enjoyed myself with them for about three hours, and after dinner I again went in to see Lev Nikolaevich. The sectarian was with him again, this time reciting some long verses of a spiritual nature which had been composed for sectarians to sing, and once again L.N. irritably sent me packing. I left the room and burst into tears. We hadn’t seen each other for nearly three weeks; our life in Moscow, our children, Misha’s exams, Tanya—none of it means a thing to him. When he realized I was upset he came looking for me and excused himself with some embarrassment.
We all had tea on the terrace together this evening, then set off to the station to meet Dora’s parents, who didn’t arrive till late at night.
L.N. wasn’t very well at Grinevka, and had a high backache and heartburn. He was better today though. He is working hard to develop his muscles, doing gymnastics with his dumb-bells, swimming in the pond and washing on the bank. He eats so poorly and so little—then grumbles and panics and groans, wraps himself in his quilted dressing gown and talks about death, which terrifies him.
It’s fine and cool, especially at night. A bright moon in a clear sky, dry and dusty again—we’ll have another bad harvest!
A telegram from Tanya to say she is arriving tomorrow. Misha continues to pass his exams, thank God! I shall go and see him the day after tomorrow.
20th May. What a dazzling, beautiful spring! Fine sunny days, bright moonlit nights, the lilacs, extraordinarily thick and white this year, drifting apple blossom, nightingales…It enchants and intoxicates us, we try to grasp these fleeting impressions of the beauty of spring, and regret them eternally.
Dora’s dear kind parents, the Westerlunds, arrived yesterday. How pleased she was to see them, the dear little girl with her big stomach, her domestic worries and her concern for their comfort.
My Tanya came this morning looking pale and listless, talking of nothing but love, her desire to have children and the difficulties of being unmarried.
I feel comfortable and happy with her. We know each other through and through, and love and understand each other.
A still moonlit night. The days are hot again, and the nights warm. I reread the life and teachings of Socrates with new understanding. All great people are alike: their genius is a deformity, an infirmity, because it is exceptional. There is no harmony in people of genius, and their unbalanced characters are a torment to others.
22nd May. I arrived in Moscow this morning.
25th May. Whit Sunday. Misha has gone to the Martynovs. He has passed his exams—just. I went with Nurse to Nikolskoe to visit the graves of Alyosha and Vanechka. We planted flowers and edged them with turf. I then said the Lord’s Prayer, and silently begged my infants to pray to God to forgive my sick and sinful soul.
It was a bright cheerful day, and the peasants were in a festive mood. A little girl took me to a nearby convent, where I chatted with the nuns. One of them said she had been “in love with Christ” from an early age, and was possessed by the notion that she should remain in every way the “bride of Christ” and of no one else.
There was absolutely no “atmosphere” about this place, with its neatly laid-out little garden, the peasants, and the countryside and dachas near by. We returned to Moscow late that evening.
26th, 27th, 28th, 29th May. Proofs, solitude, sadness. I was playing the piano in the corner room one evening, longing to see Sergei Ivanovich again and hear him play, when through the window I saw three figures approaching. I didn’t recognize them at first, then saw to my amazement that it was Maslov, Taneev’s pupil Yusha Pomerantsev and Taneev himself. Maslov left first, and Yusha played to me. Then Sergei Ivanovich played his songs, and he and Yusha played his quartet as a piano duet.
30th May. Speech day at the Conservatoire. A hot, sunny day. A Schumann sonata, the Saint-Saëns piano concerto and various minor pieces were beautifully performed by the women students Friedman, Bessy and young Gediker, and gave me enormous pleasure. There wasn’t a single person who didn’t come up to me afterwards and say: “How young you look today!” or “Oh, you look so fresh!” or “It makes one cheerful just to look at you…” This was largely thanks to my new pale-lilac muslin dress. But I always find it very pleasant, I am ashamed to say, when the public comment on my youthful appearance and say friendly things to me.
I arrived home and went out on to the balcony, and who should I see but Sergei Ivanovich, sitting on a bench in the garden reading the newspaper. I was terribly pleased. Dinner had been laid in the garden for Misha and me, and they laid a third place for him. And what a nice cheerful dinner we had. We were all hungry, and it was delightfully cosy and fresh outside! After dinner the three of us strolled around the garden together. Sergei Ivanovich told us stories about the Caucasus, and Misha, who was leaving the next day, was fascinated. Misha went off and left the two of us together, and we drank tea and Sergei Ivanovich played me some variations composed by Kolya Zhilyaev, a pupil of his. Then we sat and talked, as people talk when they trust each other completely—frankly, seriously, without shyness or stupid jokes. We talked only of things that genuinely interested us, and there wasn’t a dull or awkward moment.
What an evening it was! It was my last in Moscow—and perhaps the last such evening in my life.
At nine o’ clock he stood up to go and I didn’t hold him back. He took his leave, merely saying wistfully: “One has to go some time.” I didn’t reply—I wanted to cry. I saw him to the door, then went out to the garden. Then I packed,
tidied and locked up, and at midnight we set off for Yasnaya.
31st May. A dismal reception at Yasnaya this morning. No Tanya, no Lev Nikolaevich, just three telegrams announcing that he was ill and was staying with the Levitskys!
1st June. Lev Nikolaevich didn’t return. I wept all day, then feeling quite ill I set off with Maria Schmidt first for Tula, via Kozlovka, then took the Syzran-Vyazma line train to Karasei, where I arrived early this morning, hired a coach and went straight to the Levitskys. Lev Nikolaevich was very ill and weak, and it was unthinkable that he should go home.
2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th June (at the Levitskys). A wonderful family, busy, liberal in a good sense, him especially—a clever, strong-minded man.
It’s hard nursing and caring for L.N. and cooking his complicated vegetarian diet in a strange house. I sent for the doctor, and we gave him bismuth with opium and applied compresses. It was dreary, cold and exasperating. Lev Nikolaevich was already ill when he left. What sort of folly is this? He should be ashamed of making a nuisance of himself in another person’s house, making a lot of complicated and outlandish demands for things like almond milk, rusks, porridge oats, special bread and so on.
6th June. When we returned to Yasnaya I had a bad cough and felt weak and exhausted from looking after him.
We spent the night at the house of the Ershovs, who weren’t at home. A dreadful thing has happened! A young woman called Tulubyova (born Ershova) threw herself into the river there in a fit of depression and drowned herself. I envied her courage. Life is very hard.
8th June. At 12.45 today Dora gave birth to a son. How she suffered, poor girl, how she pleaded with her father in her guttural young voice to give her something. Lyova was very gentle with her and reassured her, and she was so sweet and loving with him, pressing herself close to him as if begging him to share her suffering. And he did, and so little Lev was born, a normal, healthy birth.
