by Cathy Porter
My son Lyova and I went out in the cabriolet to look at a house in Rudakovo to replace Tanya’s house in Ovsyannikovo.* Lev Nik. went for a ride with Doctor Makovitsky. I thought we were going together, but L.N. deliberately went in the opposite direction. I shall go along the highway, he said, and home via Ovsyannikovo. He then went a completely different way, turning off just before Ovsyannikovo, as though quite by chance. But I notice everything, remember everything and suffer deeply.
I forced myself to let Chertkov visit us, and behaved correctly with him, but I suffered terribly as I watched their every movement and glance. How I loathe that man!
Chertkov’s son Dima was here too, a sweet, straightforward boy accompanied by his English friend who drives motorcars. The papers have published a short article by L.N. called ‘From My Diary’, about his conversation with a peasant.
A mass of dull people here: the Englishman, Dima and his comrade (they aren’t so bad), the tedious Nikolaev, Goldenweiser and Chertkov. And since none of these gentlemen had anything to talk about, they played the gramophone. I tried to read some proofs—but couldn’t. Lyova is sculpting me: I feel calmer with him. He understands everything and loves and pities me.
Taking these diaries from Chertkov has cost me dear, but I would do it again if I had to; I would gladly give the rest of my life to ensure they never went back to Chertkov, and I don’t regret the health and strength I have lost in rescuing them. This must now lie on the conscience of Chertkov and my husband, who clung to them so stubbornly.
They will be deposited in the bank in Lev Nik.’s name, and he will have the sole right to take them out. What an insensitive, distrustful attitude—and how unkind to his wife!
16th July. Now they have discovered I am keeping a diary every day, they have all started scribbling their diaries. They are out to attack me, condemn me and bring all sorts of malicious evidence against me for daring to defend my conjugal rights, asking for a little more love and trust from my husband, and for the diaries to be taken away from Chertkov.
God be with them all: I need my husband, while I am still not completely frozen by his coldness; I need justice and a clear conscience, not the judgements of others.
I went to Tula with Tanya and we deposited Lev Nikolaevich’s seven notebooks in the State Bank. This is a half-measure, i.e. a partial concession to me. They have been removed from Chertkov, thank God, but now I shall never be able to see or read them in Lev Nik.’s lifetime. This is my husband’s revenge on me. When they were brought back from Chertkov’s I took them frantically and leafed through them to see what he had written (even though I had already read most of them before), and I felt as though my beloved lost child had just been returned to me and was about to be taken away again. I can imagine how furious Chertkov must be with me! This evening he visited us again. I am still tormented by hatred and jealousy of him. A mother whose child is lured away by the gypsies must feel what I felt today.
I know hardly anything about his work; at night I go into the so-called “office”, where Sasha and her companion Varvara Mikhailovna are copying for him, and look through his papers.
There are various letters there, an introduction to the kopeck booklets, the article about suicide, several beginnings, but nothing important.*
There was the most terrible thunderstorm all evening. Lord, what rain! The noise of the storm and wind and the leaves on the trees makes it impossible to sleep…
17th July. My daughter Tanya left this morning. The storm has passed. I went to bed late and slept till 12; I got up feeling exhausted, and my first thought was of Lev Nikolaevich’s diaries. Last night I read Tanya my letter to Chertkov, which is affixed to this diary, and I thought if Chertkov really loved Lev Nik. he would have given me the diaries when I asked him to, seeing what a desperate state I was in, instead of making us all so unhappy.
So are things better now? This business has brought grief to our entire family for the past two weeks; the diaries are completely inaccessible now, and Lev Nik. has offered never to see Chertkov again if I wish. Chertkov is now openly at war with me. I am winning so far, but I confess honestly that I have paid for those diaries with my life, and I know there is more to come. When Lev N. told me he was coming this evening too, I protested with all my strength, then eventually had to accept the idea. But then Lev Nik. himself asked Varvara Mikhailovna to drive over to Chertkov’s and tell him not to come.*
Lev Nikolaevich told me today that his diaries had first been hidden with our daughter Sasha, and that, at Chertkov’s insistence, she had given them to young Sergeenko, who had taken them to Chertkov behind my back on 26th November.
What vile, secretive behaviour! What a web of plots and intrigues against me! Lies! Isn’t my daughter Sasha a traitor? What a sham that was, when I asked Lev Nikol., “Where are the diaries?” and he took my arm and led me to Sasha, as though he didn’t know, but she might know where they were. And Sasha too said she didn’t know, and she too was lying. Though Lev Nikol. had probably forgotten that he had given them to Chertkov.
All these people surrounding Lev Nik. have grown so skilled in lying, cheating, justifying themselves and planning endless conspiracies! I hate lies; it’s not for nothing they say the Devil is the father of lies. It was never like this before in our bright, honest family atmosphere; it has only started since Chertkov’s devilish influence appeared in this house. For good reason his name derives from the word “devil”.*
It is he who has filled our house with this stench that is choking us all, and this gentleman accuses me of “murdering” him. He wants his revenge, but this doesn’t frighten me.
19th July. They break my heart and torture me, and now they call for the doctors—Nikitin and Rossolimo. Poor men! They have no idea how to cure someone who has had wounds inflicted on her from all sides! The chance reading of a page from his old diary has disturbed my soul and opened my eyes to his present infatuation with Chertkov, and irrevocably poisoned my heart. First they suggest the following remedy: that Lev N. should live in one place, and I in another; he would go to Tanya’s and I would go who knows where. When I realized everyone around me was intent on separating me from Lev Nikolaevich, I burst into tears and refused. Then seeing how weak I was the doctors began prescribing baths, walks, no excitement…It was absurd! Nikitin was amazed to see how thin I had become. It’s all because of my grief and my wounded loving heart—and all they can say is leave him! Which would be more painful than anything else.
I drove to the river for a swim, and felt even worse. The water is very low in the Voronka, like my life, and it would be hard to drown in it at present; I went there mainly to estimate how much deeper it might get.
I washed Lev Nik.’s cap. He went over to Ovsyannikovo in the heat and ate no dinner. He now looks very tired. No wonder! 14 miles on horseback in 36 degrees, in the glare of the sun! This evening he played chess with Goldenweiser. I didn’t say a word to him all day as I am afraid to upset him, and myself too. I posed for Lyova; I always enjoy being with him. I then corrected proofs, but still haven’t sent them off—I cannot work…It is late now and I must go to bed, although I am not sleepy.
20th July. We have had two peaceful days without Chertkov. The doctors left earlier on. I suppose they were asked here to testify that I am mad, just in case. Their visit was completely pointless. I would be quite well if every day was like the past few days.
Lev Nik. went for a ride with Filka, our stupid, good-natured stable boy, then sat on the balcony outside his room all evening, quietly writing, reading and resting. Goldenweiser came and they played a quiet game of chess, then we all drank tea on the balcony together. I feel so sorry for Lyova. He has been sad and preoccupied all day. Has he suddenly recalled some painful experience in Paris, or is he worried they won’t give him his documents for a foreign passport, or are all the painful problems of our life here too much for his nerves?…
I went swimming with Liza Obolenskaya, Sasha and Varvara Mikhailovna, and we drove home t
ogether. Insufferable heat, a lot of white mushrooms, the rye is being harvested.
I read some proofs—the new edition of the Collected Works in Russian, and Maude’s biography of Lev Nik. in English—and posed for Lyova.
21st July. Lev Nik. has a bad pain in his liver, his stomach is upset and the bile isn’t flowing. But the main reason I feel so tormented is that it is my fault he is not getting better.
This evening he played chess with Goldenweiser on the balcony upstairs. Then Chertkov came. The moment I heard his cabriolet approaching I began to tremble all over. Earlier I had walked round the garden for an hour and a half trying to regain my self-control.
But then they all sat out on the terrace together with Maria Schmidt, and I felt wretched that everyone but me was enjoying Lev Nik.’s company, and here we were, coming to the end of our life together on earth, and I couldn’t be with him. Three times I tried to go out on the terrace to drink tea with the others, and when I eventually summoned up the courage to go, what happened? I was so agitated that the blood rushed to my head, my pulse was barely perceptible, I could hardly stand and couldn’t see Chertkov. I tried to say something, and it was as though my voice wasn’t mine but that of some wild creature. Everyone stared at me. I struggled desperately to be calm, to avoid creating a scandal and distressing Lev Nikolaevich, but with little success. Lord help me! How sad and painful it is!
22nd July.* Early this morning the doctor applied leeches to the small of my back to stop the blood rushes to my head. I got up, reeling after a night without sleep.
Lev Nik. again lost his temper with me at dinner today, after I had voiced my chagrin at never being shown any copies of his latest works to read, since Chertkov immediately takes away all his manuscripts. I again burst into tears, left the table and went upstairs to my room. He thought better of it and came after me, but our conversation soon turned acrimonious again. Eventually though he invited me to take a stroll around the garden with him, which I always appreciate, and all our resentment seemed to pass.
Chertkov came after receiving a note from me to say he could visit Lev Nikolaevich if he wished; I want to be magnanimous to him, despite his rude and unpleasant behaviour. I managed to conquer my feelings and sat down to a game of draughts with my granddaughter Sonya, which distracted me from thinking about him.
Lev Nik. is listless, his liver is aching, he has no appetite and his pulse is quick. I implored him to take some rhubarb and apply a compress, but he became irritable and stubbornly refused.
23rd July. Lev Nik. was much worse this morning. But I did have one great joy—my darling grandchildren visited: first Sonyushka and Ilyushok with their mother, then Lyova, Lina and Misha came from Chifirovka with Vanechka and Tanechka. They are all such sweet, loveable children. But I couldn’t spend much time with them, as I was looking after Lev Nik., watching over him and listening for his call, which made me sad.
When I learnt Chertkov was coming again, I burst into tears and started trembling all over, and Sasha virtually spat in my face as she went past, shouting, “Oh, what the devil is it now! I’m so sick of these scenes!”
What a horribly rude creature. And what a terrible, wicked expression she had on her face when she said it. Oh, how one longs for death in the midst of all this evil, deception and hatred.
I read the little two-act play Lev Nik. wrote in Kochety after his peasant pals had put on his play The First Distiller, and asked him to write something else for them. It’s just raw material so far, but he has thought it all out and parts of it are very good. I kept being reminded of The Power of Darkness.
In the past, when I used to copy everything for Lev Nikol., I used to point out the mistakes and clumsy bits, and we would correct them together. Nowadays the others do all his copying for him, very accurately, but like machines.
24th July. Chertkov came again this evening, and I overheard Lev Nik. whispering to him: “Do you agree with what I wrote?” And he replied: “Of course I agree!” Yet another plot! Lord have mercy!
When I asked Lev Nik. with tears in my eyes to tell me what “agreement” they were talking about, he made a spiteful face and stubbornly refused to tell me anything. He is unrecognizable! And once more I am in the throes of despair. There is a phial of opium on my table, and the only reason I haven’t drunk it is because I don’t want to give them all, including Sasha, the satisfaction of seeing me dead. But how they persecute me! Lev Nik.’s health is much better now and he will certainly do everything he can to survive me so as to continue his life with Chertkov. I long to drink that phial and leave a note for Lev Nik. saying, “Now you are free.”
This evening he said to me spitefully: “I have decided today that I want to be free, so I am not going to pay attention to anything any more.” We shall see who will be the winner if he does declare open war on me. My weapon and my revenge is death, and it will be his and Chertkov’s disgrace if they kill me. “She is mad!” they will say. Yet who is it who drove me mad?
25th July. He has been writing something with Chertkov. Today he gave him some large documents, probably a new will depriving his family of his works after his death. He has renounced money, yet he always has several hundred rubles on his desk to give away. He has renounced traveling, yet he has already made three journeys this summer, he visited his daughter Tanya in Kochety twice this year, he has been to see Chertkov in Kryokshino and Meshcherskoe, and his son Seryozha with me—and now he wants to go to Kochety again.
On the evening of the 24th I sat down at my desk in a state of great agitation, and stayed there all night in just a light summer dress, without once closing my eyes. At five in the morning I decided to go outside for some fresh air, even though it was pouring with rain. But then my daughter-in-law Olga ran out of the room next door, grabbed me with a strong arm and said: “Now where are you going? I know you’re about to do something silly and I’m going to stay with you!” And that dear, sweet, kind woman sat up with me all night, without sleeping a wink, poor thing, and tried to comfort me…Stiff with cold, I moved to a stool and dozed off. (Olga told me I moaned pitifully in my sleep.) The next morning I decided to leave so as not to see Chertkov and simply to get some rest and give Lev Nikolaevich a rest from my presence and my suffering soul. I packed my case, took some money, and writing work and my permit, and decided either to move into a hotel in Tula or to my house in Moscow.
I drove to Tula in the trap which was being sent to collect Andryusha and his family. I met him at the station and decided that after seeing them off to Yasnaya I would go on to Moscow that evening. But Andryusha immediately sensed my state of mind and firmly announced he wouldn’t leave me on my own for a moment. There was nothing to be done, and I agreed to return to Yasnaya with him, although all the way back I was shuddering at the memory of my recent experiences.
I straight away lay down in bed, for fear of meeting my husband and being the butt of his jibes. But in fact, to my great joy, he entered my room with tears in his eyes and thanked me tenderly for returning: “I realized I couldn’t live without you,” he said weeping. “I felt shattered, I went to pieces…We are so close, we have grown so used to each other…I am so grateful to you for coming back darling, thank you…”
26th July. Sad news this morning from Tanya, who is ill in bed. She begs Lev Nikolaevich (but not me) to go to Kochety.
My sons have been splendid, and have united to defend me. Sasha looks maliciously at me, like all guilty people. Having insulted me and spat in my face, she is now sulking and unconsciously wants to take her father away from me; but of course for his sake I would abandon everything and leave here.
It is a warm damp day, with a lot of little clouds but no rain. They are cutting the oats now, although the rye has still not been harvested and some of it has been stolen.
27th July, morning. Another sleepless night. Anxiety is gnawing at my heart. I cannot bear not knowing about the conspiracy with the document Lev Nik. has just signed (evidently a supplement to his will, drafted
by Chertkov and signed by Lev Nik.). That document is his revenge on me for the diaries and for Chertkov. Poor old man! What sort of memories will he leave behind after his death?!
The moment I got up this morning I took Vanechka’s basket and wandered off to the woods, and who should I see there but L.N., sitting on his shooting stick and scribbling something. He seemed taken aback to see me, and hurriedly covered up his piece of paper. I suspect he was writing to Chertkov.
I was out for two and a half hours, and it was good to be with nature, far away from cunning, spiteful people. Silly little Parasha who watches our calves is such a happy, kind-hearted creature; she had picked some inedible mushrooms which she gave me, but with such good nature! Two shepherds greeted me amiably as they drove our cattle past. I gazed into the cows’ eyes and realized they were just nature, and had no soul.
The boys were out picking mushrooms, such cheerful, artless fellows…In the barn the men who guard our orchards and the girl labourers (who have come from far away) were all sitting down on the threshing floor for their dinner. They looked so bright and cheerful; not one of them had ulterior motives, or was drawing up plots and documents with sly fools like Chertkov. Everything is simple and honest with them! We should learn to merge with nature and the common people; our lives would be much simpler without the stench of false non-resistance.
29th July. We have regained our old calm existence again, and life has returned to normal. Thank God! Chertkov hasn’t visited us for five days now, nor Lev Nik. him. But at the mere memory of him, and the possibility of their renewed intimacy, something rises from the depths of my soul and torments me. Well at least it’s a rest!
