The Diaries of Sofia Tolstoy

by Cathy Porter

  16th. Seryozha, Misha and Ilya left, and Lyova unexpectedly arrived. I did nothing all day. Endless discussions about this nightmarish sale of Yasnaya Polyana, inventories and all the other matters concerning that dear, beloved man. I put a brave face on it, but it is hard! There was a distant thunderstorm and a brief shower, and people have picked the first berries, white mushrooms and milk caps. Later this evening there was a heavy thunderstorm and it poured with rain.

  17th. I have made a list of the things in the bedroom, and am giving almost all of them to the government, care of the Museum. All very sad, but I know it must be done.

  18th. Today is Sasha’s 27th birthday. I thought about her all day. Poor girl! It must be sad for her to be alienated from her beloved father’s family. It has been raining and thundering on and off all day.

  20th. I took a walk with my Lyova and we had a long talk. There are no happy people in this world! It was very hot today; they’ve been gathering the hay and picking berries and white mushrooms.

  21st. The same—it rained, I read Naryshkina’s fascinating memoirs of her life at the palace. A brilliant life and an intelligent one—unlike my own naive memoirs about my life as a mother.

  23rd. I have started painting a copy of Pokhitonov’s view of Chepyzh. Andryusha is back. It rained all day. Lyova is tense and nervous and his plans are erratic. I live only for today, with the happy certainty that every day brings me closer to death.

  24th. No rain today. Very warm, the hay is still lying on the ground. I did a painting in oils and am very dissatisfied with the results. One cannot get far if one has no training and is almost blind.

  25th. A wonderful evening—the light, the sunset, the fresh green, the flowers…and the more beautiful it is, the sadder I feel. At the grave I met some young people who had come to pay their respects; I asked them not to touch my flowers and roses.

  28th. My son Seryozha’s birthday today. I was going to visit him but who needs me there? I sobbed as I remembered his birth 48 years ago. I was just 18.

  29th. Today is fine and cool. I tried hard to stifle my grief—mowed hay, pumped water and took a long walk with Yulia Igumnova to the plot of land I have bought in Telyatinki and the birch grove. I spent the evening with my sons. None of them is happy—how sad!

  4th July. Worked hard photographing Lev Nik.’s private diary “for himself alone”. It makes painful reading! My poor Lyovochka, we were so estranged at the end! I feel it was my fault, yet I was so unhappy myself! I took a long walk after dinner with Andryusha, Katya and Yulia. Mown hay lying everywhere. We walked across the meadow and along the Voronka, returning by the swimming-pool path, to the grave. I knitted all evening. Painful discussions about the will.

  6th. Today Biryukov brought two hundred peasant teachers, men and women, to look round the house, the estate and Lev Nikolaevich’s grave. I helped and talked to them, and met with a great deal of sympathy. This evening I pasted newspaper cuttings. Another insufferable polemic inspired by an article of Chertkov’s! The rain has ruined the hay.

  10th. There were about 140 visitors to the house today, and even more at the grave. I took some of them round the house myself and read the second notebook of Lev Nik.’s letters to me. It’s sad to recall the past, but sometimes it’s good too.

  16th. Couldn’t sleep last night, took some veronal and got up late. Went to Sasha’s house in Telyatinki to see my sister-in-law Maria Nikolaevna. Discussions and tears. I learnt nothing new, apart from the fact that a chapter in Resurrection called ‘The Liturgy’ has been published abroad.* Lev Nik. had promised his sister not to publish this chapter, but Chertkov has already done so.

  17th. A very busy day. Crowds of visitors to the grave and house. Artists taking photographs for Merkurov the sculptor, who has been commissioned to produce a relief map of Yasnaya Polyana.

  19th. Our dear nun, L.N.’s sister Maria Nikolaevna, came for the day. Discussions, memories…I have seen my daughter Sasha twice now, and we are getting on better.

  21st. Endless bustle all day, but I feel free of it all. My grief at losing Lev Nikolaevich is so solemn and profound, nothing else seems important.

  24th. What turmoil. My son Ilya, his wife Sonya and my nephew Sanya Kuzminsky paid a brief visit. Maria Nikolaevna came, and some Serbian doctor, an acquaintance of Makovitsky. Then Gusev, who has just returned from exile. There were 15 for dinner.

  26th. Maria Nikolaevna said Chertkov had taken six photographs of her, and in all of them he had been in the picture, and Sasha too. How unpleasant! More gales, thunderstorms and rain. A dead branch has come down over the grave.

  31st. More guests. All these visits are completely lacking in soul, love or joy. It makes me sad. I have given so much love to other people, and have met so much injustice, coldness and censure.

  6th August. Went to Telyatinki to see Sasha, and had a talk with my sister-in-law Maria Nikolaevna the nun. I was touched by something she said about Lyovochka, who shortly before he died kept repeating: “What is to be done? What should I do now?” She said he spoke with such anguish and despair. I feel so sorry for him! His soul was not at peace before his death. In Telyatinki Olga made a spiteful remark and Sasha ostentatiously left the room.

  12th (Moscow). Went to the Duma this morning and delivered an application for the sale of our house in Khamovniki Street.* Everything there is just as it was in the old days, it’s like a grave! Where is Vanechka? Where is Masha? Where is Lyovochka? They all lived there once…

  13th. Did some shopping, and this afternoon went to the cinematograph to please my maid Verochka. Most depressing! Stupid subjects for an uncultured audience.

  14th. We left Moscow and returned to Yasnaya this afternoon. Sadness everywhere! On the train I read ‘Does Woman Represent God’.*

  16th. I printed some photographs and sent them to Mey, then made jam—apple and peach—and marinated some red plums. A lot of bustle, and all for what? Eating is the only sweet and purposeless activity. A widow visited today with her 2 little mites, and how they grabbed at the white bread I gave them! I also gave her 4 rubles. Gusev came. Is he sincere, I wonder? I wrote to Mashenka about the portable chairs.

  22nd. My 67th birthday. Why was I born? Who needed me? Surely my wretched life must soon end.

  28th. Lev Nikolaevich’s birthday. About 300 visitors came to the house, and many more to the grave. I didn’t go: I can’t bear to see so many policemen, and there’s so little real feeling for Lev Nik.*

  My son Seryozha came, and my grandson Seryozha with his teacher M. Kuez. A crowd of guests. My soul is sombre and my head is a fog.

  30th. I went to the grave and got soaked in the rain. Chatted to the peasant Taras Fokanov. Worked hard taking notes for My Life, and suddenly rediscovered my interest in my old work. My eyes were better today. This evening Prince Dolgorukov came to discuss the peasants’ library.*

  3rd September. Worked hard on my memoirs and read some sad family letters written in 1894, when Lyova was so ill, then wandered sadly about the garden. What a hard life! Rain all day, a blazing red sunset and starry night.

  7th. A delightful warm, bright day, but the leaves already have their autumn colouring. I couldn’t stay indoors—too sad!—and went out to saw dead branches off the apple trees. Then I had to tidy up the cellar and boil jam. I sat in the barn and thought intensely about eternal life. Where do we all go? Where has my Lyovochka gone? This evening I copied out my Daily Diary for 1910.

  11th. I walked to the fir plantation, and my Sasha was here, with the peasant Frolov boy. She and I are friends, thank God.

  12th. I didn’t sleep last night and felt wretched this morning, and got up early and went to Lev Nik.’s grave. On the way I found some mushrooms—honey agarics and milk caps—and picked a whole basketful. At the grave I wept and prayed as usual, and spoke to L.N. No one was there for a change. I spent the day painting the autumn leaves in watercolours and wandering around Yasnaya Polyana.

  19th. I wrote to Minister Kokovtsov about the
sale of Yasnaya Polyana, painted and sat with the writer Almedingen. Life is dull and tedious these days, my soul is unbearably sad.

  22nd. I painted, copied, knitted and didn’t leave the house. News of Liza Obolenskaya’s arrival. I am so pleased. How good Socrates’s last discussion with his pupils* was. One must believe in eternal life, otherwise it would be impossible to go on.

  23rd. Our wedding anniversary! When I got up I picked some white flowers and roses—emblems of my vanished youth—and took them to the grave. I stood alone there and wept. Where are you, my bridegroom, my beloved husband? Liza Obolenskaya came, and my son Ilya paid a brief visit. Then dear Maria Schmidt arrived. This evening we read The Living Corpse.* Not very good.

  1st October. Dmitry Obolensky came with two engineers from St Petersburg who have come to inspect the Belgian factories at Sudakovo. Andryusha has returned from Krapivna. He was unanimously voted a town councillor of the Krapivna district.

  2nd. I played the piano for a long time—sonatas by Beethoven and Weber. I wanted to forget myself but couldn’t. Then I copied out my Daily Diary, painted an autumn leaf and read various articles about The Living Corpse. Frightful weather, 2° below freezing, dark sky. It distresses me that I haven’t visited the grave for so long.

  4th. Tanya’s 47th birthday. Already! How vividly I remember her birth. Lev Nik. had a broken arm, and sobbed with emotion when his first daughter was born. How he loved me!

  8th. Lovely weather. Clear, still, 7°. I went to the grave and talked to the peasant Taras Fokanov, who loved Lev Nikol. and now guards his grave. This evening I finished reading aloud ‘Tolstoy and Turgenev’. I have tried to work on my memoirs but still haven’t written anything. My spiritual life is severe and contemplative. I must be brave!

  9th. Not many visitors today—eight in all. Andryusha, Yulia Igumnova and I visited the grave. Taras, Ivan Drozd and I measured the space for the new wrought-iron fence. I don’t like their plans. I worked hard on my memoirs for 1894. Life was hard then, but it got worse.

  16th. Andryusha returned from Moscow, and told us about The Living Corpse and the Tolstoy exhibition.* He understands a lot. I spent the day drawing autumn leaves; I didn’t feel disposed to write. A warm wind. The workmen have arrived to mend the path by the grave and dig ditches.

  18th. At 7.20 this morning Maria Alexandrovna Schmidt died in Ovsyannikovo. Yet another dear, close friend is no more—yet again my heart is like lead! She died suddenly, as she lived, without bothering anyone, all alone with her maid. I went to Ovsyannikovo to look at her stern, yellow face and say goodbye to my dear friend. A fine sunny day, with a freezing north wind. Before going to Ovsyannikovo I visited the grave. The workmen are there mending the ditches and the road, and it’s seething with activity.

  19th. I went to the grave; everyone was hard at work there, as they were yesterday. Then I went to the barn and the threshing machine. There they all were, peasants and young folk, laughing and joking and threshing—life goes on around me, but my heart is sad and silent. As silent as the small, thin, dead figure of Maria Alexandrovna in her coffin. The artist Baturin has arrived. A warm, windy day, with fleecy clouds in the sky. I drew and wrote.

  20th. We buried Maria Schmidt today. Andryusha and Katya are packing up and preparing for a new life in Taptykovo. A still day. 5°, and a starry, moonlit night. It’s good to be with nature, even though it’s autumn.

  21st. This morning I went to the grave. Yesterday and today they’ve been putting up another sort of fence. There are a lot of workmen there.

  23rd. I wept bitter, painful tears as I walked back from the grave and recalled Lyovochka’s tortured mental state at the end, and I am still weeping now. Visitors arrived from Moscow and I showed them everything. I attended to the day-labourers’ records and accounts, and packed my bag for Moscow.

  25th (Moscow). Visited the banks and delivered the album and Skeleton Dolls.* Everyone was very pleasant. Had dinner and spent a pleasant evening with Seryozha and Masha, and my grandson Seryozha.

  27th. Shopping and business all morning. Dined with Seryozha again. Saw my grandchildren, Misha’s children, and was very, very happy.

  28th. It was on this day that Lev Nikol. left Yasnaya Polyana. Spent the morning at the Tolstoy Exhibition. Various gentlemen kept following me around so I had to force myself not to cry. It was very distressing, but interesting!*

  29th. Back at Yasnaya. The moon was still shining at 7 this morning. The house is silent, sad and empty.

  31st. I have started copying Repin’s portrait of Lev Nik.—very hard. This evening I read Arabazhin’s book about Lev Nikolaevich;* very well written. A grey, windy day. I took a bath. Lev Nik. lives in me, like a pregnant woman with her baby. I’m forever thinking: “Oh, I’ll tell Lyovochka that, I must show him that…” But he was so indifferent last year to everything that concerned me, he lived only for Chertkov. It was on this day that he stopped at Astapovo. But I survived, and, alas, I am still alive!

  1st November. I wrote letters to my sister Tanya, Marusya Maklakova, Lyova and my daughter-in-law Katya. Also letters about the waltz and the poems.* I worked on my copy of Lev Nik.’s portrait and went to the grave; they’re finishing the work on the fence and the paths.

  7th. A sad day. A year ago today Lev Nikolaevich died. All my sons came, apart from Lyova, and a crowd of journalists and members of the Tolstoy Society—about 500 visitors in all. Our peasants followed me to the grave and sang ‘Eternal Memory’. My granddaughter Tanyushka Sukhotina was with me. Endless bustle, long discussions about the sale of Yasnaya Polyana and sadness in my heart.

  11th (Moscow). The Sukhotins, Yulia, my maid Verochka and I are all staying for the last time in my house in Khamovniki Street, and are happy to be here. Sukhotin and Makovitsky stayed with my son Seryozha in Staro-Konyushenny Street.

  12th. I visited the Duma to discuss selling my house to the city of Moscow.

  17th. Ilya complains about his affairs, and says: “I’ll shoot myself.” I have been visiting Speshnev the notary about the sale of the house. Dzhunkovsky the governor came to give me some advice about my letter to the Tsar. I wrote him a letter about the sale of Yasnaya Polyana,* and Ilya and I decided to send it straight to his palace in Livadia with my son Misha. I still don’t know whether it has been sent.

  20th. The Moscow Arts Theatre gave me a ticket for a box to see The Living Corpse.

  22nd. This evening we went to the Arts Theatre and sat in the director’s box with Zosya and old Alexander Stakhovich. The Living Corpse is remarkable more for the performance of the actors (often in a bad sense, as in the part of Fedya) than for its literary merits. It’s better to read it.

  23rd. Spent the morning at the Merchant Bank and the Duma. I received 125,000 rubles for the house and sent 60,000 rubles of this to my 6 children. Sasha is very rich now, but she is all alone.

  26th. I tidied the old house in Khamovniki Street and choked back the tears as I said farewell to the past. Yet one more thing has been torn from my heart. I dined with Seryozha. He then left for the English Club, and this evening I set off home for Yasnaya.

  27th. I am back again; the house is cold and empty. The artist Orlov is here. I went to bed and slept till one, then drank some coffee and went to the grave. The grey sky looming overhead, the forest silence, our peasants chopping brushwood in the gulley—everything is sombre and severe here in the country. Letters from Lyova, tender but sad.

  28th. I got up late feeling rested but lonely. I had letters from the children, which was a consolation. I learnt that Sasha had walked over to the house and hadn’t come in! What a strange creature!

  30th. I went to the village and took over the peasants’ library from Maria Valentinovna, who is leaving. The villagers take out books and don’t return them, which is most annoying. The library will have to be closed, and that will be the end of it. Our peasants are still so uncultured. I worked on newspaper cuttings until late tonight and pasted them in.

  5th December. I went to
Taptykovo with Verochka to visit Andryusha. The road was terrible! Not much snow, frozen mud, potholes and unbearably bumpy. They were all touchingly pleased to see me, and I was glad I went; Katya, Andryusha and little Mashenka warmed me with their love, and I looked round their comfortable house.

  6th. Andryusha’s 34th birthday. We all spent the day together.

  7th. We spent the morning together again, and Katya and Andryusha thanked me touchingly for coming. A strong wind, the road was terrible, 2½° below freezing. I was exhausted and fell asleep on the sofa in the drawing room. This evening I read Alexandrine’s ‘Reminiscences’, which I found fascinating, and her correspondence with Lev Nik., published in a splendid Tolstoy Museum edition.

  12th. I collected the library books from the peasant children—some were lost, some were torn and filthy. Then I drew up a contents table for my memoirs. I didn’t go out all day. There was a heavy fall of snow. I relive my whole life when I read my memoirs.

  15th. Wanda Landowska and her husband arrived here from Sasha’s. Their talk upset me. Before they came I went to the grave and fed the birds. The silent forest, hoar frost, 5° below freezing.