by Cathy Porter
13th October. Thoughts of suicide are growing again, but I nurture them in silence. Today I read in the newspapers about a little girl of fifteen who took an overdose of opium and died quite easily—she just fell asleep. I looked at my big phial—but lacked the courage.
Life is unbearable. It has been like living under bombardment from Mr Chertkov ever since Lev Nik. visited him in June and succumbed to his influence.
Monster! What business has he to interfere in our family affairs?
Lev N. has been infected by Chertkov’s vile suggestion that my main motive was self-interest. What “self-interest” could there possibly be in a sick old woman of 66, who has a house and land, and forests and capital—not to mention my ‘Notes’, my diaries and my letters, all of which I can publish?!
I went for a long walk—4 degs. below freezing—then drove to Yasenki to the post.
14th October. I woke early and straight away sat down and wrote my husband a letter.
When I timidly opened the door to his study, he said, “Can’t you leave me in peace?” I said nothing, closed the door and didn’t go in again. He came to see me later, but there were yet more reproaches, a blank refusal to answer my questions, and such hatred!*
He is reading Dostoevsky’s Karamazovs at present and says it is no good; the descriptions are excellent, he says, but the dialogue is very bad—it’s always Dostoevsky speaking, rather than the individual characters, and their words are simply not characteristic of them.
I have done a lot of work on the new edition, and am feeling weak, my head is aching, and I keep falling asleep over my books and papers. Yesterday evening I wrote to Andryusha. Magnificent weather, clear, starry, frosty and bright, but I didn’t go out.
16th October. I woke early and couldn’t get back to sleep for worrying about how to retrieve Lev Nik.’s diaries from the Tula State Bank. I went down to breakfast, and he announced he was off to see Chertkov.
I cannot express what I felt! I ran out to the woods and clambered down some gulleys where it would have been hard to find me had I been taken ill. Then I came out into the field and raced to Telyatinki (carrying the binoculars, so as to be able to see everything from a long way off). When I got to Telyatinki I lay in the ditch near the gates leading to Chertkov’s house and waited for Lev Nik. to arrive. I don’t know what I would have done if he had—I kept imagining I would lie down on the bridge across the ditch and let his horse trample over my body.
Fortunately though he didn’t come. I saw young Sergeenko and Pyotr, who had gone to fetch water. (Chertkov, in the name of some sort of Christian charity, has recruited various young men to work for him, as our servants work for us.)
At 5 o’clock I wandered off again. I entered our grounds as it was growing dark, went to the lower pond and lay down for a long time on the bench under the large fir tree. I was in agony at the thought of Lev Nikolaevich’s exclusive love for Chertkov, and a resumption of their relations. I could just imagine them locked away together in some room with their endless secrets, and these frightful imaginings turned my thoughts to the pond, in whose icy water I could that very moment have found eternal deliverance from my tormenting jealousy! Then I lay on the ground and dozed off.
When it was completely dark and I could see Lev N.’s light through the windows, they came out to search for me with lanterns. Alexei the yard-keeper found me. I got up, beside myself with cold and exhaustion, and sat down on my bed without undressing and stayed there like a mummy, without eating dinner or taking off my hat, jacket or galoshes. This is how you kill people—without weapons but with perfect aim!
When I asked L.N. why he made me so unhappy, and whether he would be going to see Chertkov later, he started shouting in a rage: “I want my freedom, I won’t submit to your whims and fancies, I’m 82 years old, not a little boy, I won’t be tied to my wife’s apron strings!…” and many more harsh and hurtful things besides.
He cannot live without Chertkov, of course, and this is why he gets so angry with me: because I simply cannot force myself to endure a resumption of relations with that scoundrel.
I went in to see Lev Nik. twice during the night, in a desperate state, and tried somehow to repair our relations. I managed with great difficulty to do so, and we forgave each other, kissed and said goodnight. He said, among other things, that he would do all he could not to grieve me and to make me happy. I wonder what tomorrow will bring?
17th October. A quiet day. I managed to do a lot of work on the proofs and the new edition. Lev Nikolaevich, in his Gospel for children, writes among other things about anger (quoting from the Gospel): “If you think your brother has done you a wrong, choose a time and a place to talk to him eye to eye, and tell him briefly about your grievance. If he listens to you, then instead of being your enemy he will be your friend for life. If he doesn’t listen, take pity on him and have nothing more to do with him.”
This is exactly what I want from Chertkov—I want nothing more to do with him and an end to our relations.
I have decided not to go anywhere, neither to Moscow nor to concerts. I now treasure every moment of my life with Lev Nik. I love him intensely, like the last flicker of a dying fire, and I couldn’t possibly leave him. Maybe if I am gentle with him he will grow more fond of me too, and won’t want to leave me. God knows!
18th October. I got up late feeling shattered, haunted by new fears of some quarrel or unpleasantness. When I look back on the past four months of my ordeal, I am reminded of a cat-and-mouse game. It tortured me that his seven diaries were with Chertkov, and I begged him to get them back. But he kept refusing to do so. He went on torturing me for three weeks, by which time he had driven me to despair, then he took them back, only to deposit them in the bank. I had fallen ill with a nervous disorder long before this episode with the diaries.
Then he deliberately stayed on in Kochety because he knew I had to be near Moscow for the new edition. The separation and worry were agony for me, yet he stubbornly stayed on and wouldn’t return to Yasnaya. And when, at the end of my stay there, I begged him with tears in my eyes to tell me roughly when he might return, even if only for my name day, he grew furious and stubbornly refused.
Terrible weather—a driving blizzard and thick snow. By this evening it was completely white and 6 degs. of frost.
19th October. E.V. Molostvova came to visit. She has made a study of various religious sects and is writing a book about them. She is a sensitive intelligent woman, and understands a great deal. I told her about my woes, and she dismissed much of what I said, insisting that beside me, Lev Nik.’s wife, Chertkov represented such an insignificant figure that I demeaned myself by imagining he could ever occupy my place in his relations with him. But I wasn’t convinced; I am still terrified they will resume their friendship.
Last night I grew very anxious when I saw his diary had disappeared from the table where it invariably lies in a locked attaché case. And when he woke in the night, I went into his room to ask him if he had given it to Chertkov. “The diary is with Sasha,” he said, and I grew a little calmer.
Clear, frosty weather. It is now 8 degs. below freezing, and starry and silent. Everyone is asleep.
20th October. Sasha was busy looking after her sick horses and writing for her father; she also went to a meeting in our village to talk to the local peasants about the consumers’ store in Yasnaya Polyana.
Lev Nikol. worked on his writing and played patience, rode over to Zaseka, came into my room several times and spoke kindly to me. Some peasants came to see him—Novikov,* a clever peasant from Tula who writes articles, and some of our villagers, one of whom went to prison for two years for being a revolutionary.*
How avidly he reads everything about himself in the newspapers! He obviously couldn’t do without this now!
21st October. Today I saw in the newspaper Spark the photograph taken of Lev N. and me on our last wedding anniversary. Thousands of people can see us there together, hand in hand, as we have lived all our liv
es. I had a long talk with Sasha today. She knows nothing of life and people, and there is an enormous amount she doesn’t understand. Telyatinki is her entire world; she has her beloved little home there, and nearby live the dull-witted Chertkovs.
I am continuing to read Lev Nik.’s pamphlets for the new edition, and find them terribly monotonous. I warmly sympathize with his denunciation of war, violence, punishments and murders, but I don’t understand his denunciation of governments. People need leaders, masters and rulers; any sort of human organization is unthinkable without them. It is essential however, that the ruler is wise, just and self-sacrificing in the interest of his subjects.
23rd October. Now that he lacks Chertkov’s closeness, Lev Nikol. seems to have grown closer to me. He occasionally talks to me, and today I had two joys—my dear husband, the old Lyovochka, noticed my existence twice. Early this morning when guests were leaving and there was a great deal of bustle and commotion, he thought it was me walking about and came and told me how worried he had been. Later on he ate a delicious pear and brought one for me to share with him.
Recently he has started writing articles about socialism, suicide and something about madness. What he was working on this morning I don’t know. This evening he was frantically sorting out his kopeck booklets for distribution, dividing them into good, middling and bad, as well as deciding which ones were for the most intelligent and which were for the less educated.
I took the dogs Belka and Marquise for a walk to Zakaz, following the horses’ hoofprints in the direction where Lev Nik. and Doctor Makovitsky had ridden.
Thawing, no roads, grey and windy.
I have done a lot of reading for the new edition. My eyes are bad, I soon grow tired and am worried about the uncensored state of Lev Nikolaevich’s later works.
24th October. We had a visit from a young lady called Natalya Almedingen, who edits children’s magazines. Also Gastev, a longstanding Tolstoyan who lives in the Caucasus, and Bulgakov.
I went for a walk with the young lady, and suddenly on the hillock in front of the swimming pool we saw two riders, Lev Nikol. and Bulgakov. I was delighted to see L.N. as I had been thinking about him, wondering if he would go home without me and worrying he might have an accident on the slippery road.
Towards evening it poured with rain and grew warmer. There was no mention of Chertkov today, but every day when L.N. sets off for his walk I wait in terror for him to return, in case he has gone to see him. I fret and cannot work, and calm down only when I see him approaching from the other direction, and am then happy for the rest of the day.
25th October. I got up early, spent the morning with Almedingen and read six pages of proofs. Then I went to our village school, where one young, inexperienced teacher is in charge of 84 girls and boys. This evening our son Seryozha came; he played chess with his father, then played the piano. I read Almedingen the ‘Notes’ I wrote about my girlhood and marriage, and she seemed to like them.
Lev Nik. exchanged letters with Chertkov’s wife Galya today. I asked what they were about, and he made another excuse and pretended to have forgotten. I asked to see Galya’s letter, and he said he didn’t know where it was, which wasn’t true. Why not just say, “I don’t want to show it to you”? But recently it’s nothing but endless lies, excuses and evasions…How morally weak he has become! Where is his kindness, his clarity, his honesty?
An evil spirit rules our house and my husband’s heart.
I am coming to the end of this terrible diary, the history of my sad sufferings, and shall seal it up for a long, long time!
Curses on Chertkov, curses on the person who was the cause of it all!
Forgive me, Lord.
7th November. On 7th November, at 6 o’clock in the morning, Lev Nikol. died.
9th November. I have not recorded the events of October the 26th and 27th, but on the 28th, at 5 in the morning, he slipped out of the house with Doctor Makovitsky. His excuse for leaving was that I had been rummaging through his papers the previous night. I had gone into his study for a moment, but I didn’t touch one paper—there weren’t any papers on his desk. In his letter to me (written for the entire world) the pretext he gave for leaving was our luxurious life and his desire to be alone and live in a hut, like the peasants.* But then why did he have to write telling Sasha to come with her hanger-on, Varvara Mikhailovna?
When I learnt from Sasha and the letter about his flight, I jumped into the pond in despair. Sasha and Bulgakov pulled me out, alas!* Then nothing passed my lips for the next five days, and on 31st October at 7.30 a.m. I received a telegram from the editors of Russian Word: “Lev Nikolaevich in Astapovo. Temperature 40°.” Andrei, Tanya and I travelled by special train from Tula to Astapovo. They didn’t let me in to see Lev Nik.* They held me by force, they locked the door, they tormented my heart. On 7th November, at 6 in the morning, Lev Nik. died. On 9th November he was buried at Yasnaya Polyana.
II
Daily Diary 1906–7 and 1909–19
1906
20th November. Masha is very poorly; her temperature was 40.8 this evening. My heart is like lead; I feel so sorry and afraid for her. The house is sad and silent.
21st. Masha is very ill. Day and night her temperature is 41.3. Doctor Afanasyev came.
23rd. Masha has a fever of 40.7, and has difficulty speaking. I am terrified. I don’t sleep at night, my soul is oppressed.
Lina and Misha came for dinner, and it became a little more cheerful; there are still plenty of people to love, so long as I have my grandchildren.
24th. Masha is still very ill. Doctor Shchurovsky and Doctor Afanasyev came. There is inflammation of the left lung and pleurisy.
Lina and Misha have left. Ilya came—wanting money as usual. 1° of frost, snowing. We can think of nothing but Masha’s illness.
25th. Masha is in a terrible state—groaning, tossing and delirious. I was sitting with her and it was unbearable to see her. I walked along the avenue and thought: why do people so value their own lives and those of their loved ones? We are all tense with anticipation.
27th. Masha died quietly at twenty to one this morning. Lev Nikolaevich was sitting beside her, holding her hand. She sat propped up on the pillows, and we were all with her in the room under the arches. I kissed her forehead and stood beside L.N. Kolya kept weeping and kissing her hands even after she had fallen quiet. A terrible wind was howling and tearing at the house. I cannot believe Masha has gone; it is very painful.
28th. Masha has been laid in her coffin, and Marfa Kub[asova], Olga Ershova, Matryosha and her mother are all sitting with her. Lev Nikolaevich, Kolya and Tanya went in to see her and a funeral service will be held. I have been with Kolya and Andryusha, who are making all the arrangements.
29th. We buried Masha.
30th. I do nothing all day, life has stopped. I went to the side wing to see my granddaughter Tanyushka, who is adorable.
1907
8th August. Alexei the yard-keeper told us a strange tale of how some hooligans had questioned him about our house and offered him a hundred rubles if he turned informer. We are all terribly frightened and can’t sleep. I wrote to the governor, and sent someone to buy a gun. Tanya’s husband Mikhail Sukhotin came. We read her splendid article about the fire, and were very moved.*
9th. Four policemen were sent over here with an officer. Nothing has happened, but yesterday some tramps told Alexei to bring them some bread.
A Czech journalist was here.
19th. A tragic accident. A 7-year-old boy has drowned in the middle pond; his 16-year-old sister waded in to save him and was also drowned. The poor mother! She is the sister of Varya, our washerwoman. Lev Nikolaevich and I went to the Chertkovs. Endless talk and crowds of young people, mainly peasants. He preached—utter hypocrisy. His follower Abrikosov came, and two schoolmistresses from Kazan.
22nd. My 63rd birthday, I cannot believe I’m so old. The Chertkov family was here, the Goldenweisers, Maria Schmidt, Rostovtsova and Abrikosov. I t
hought of my children and longed to see them. I played the piano for a long time during the day, and this evening read Zosya Stakhovich my memoirs. Lev Nikolaevich visits the Chertkovs almost every day.
23rd October (Moscow). L.N.’s secretary Gusev has been arrested for inserting the words “the brainless Tsar” into L.N.’s article ‘What Is the Solution?’ and for not having a passport.
26th October. L.N. visited Gusev in jail.
27th November. The anniversary of our daughter Masha’s death. Exactly one year. How sad and strange it is that she is gone. Our life is so quiet and lonely now. I have developed a passion for painting portraits, which is a great waste of concentration and energy. Lev Nikolaevich goes riding and muddles up his Circle of Reading: it’s like Penelope’s labours—one day he works, the next day he does it all over again.
