Vigorous government action against members of such increasingly popular religious sects as the Stundists, much like the Baptists, and the Dukhobors “spirit-wrestlers”, whose primitive communal brand of Christianity, denouncing hierarchies, sacraments and violence, is considered especially subversive. Hundreds of them are harassed and imprisoned, yet this does little to check the huge growing population of religious dissidents. November—Tsar Alexander III dies. His twenty-six-year-old son Nicholas becomes Tsar.
Sofia Tolstoy brings out ninth edition of Tolstoy’s Complete Works.
2nd March. Tanya has left for Paris to stay with Lyova. His health is worse. I am haunted by the thought that he isn’t long for this world. He is too exceptional, too good and too unbalanced. I live from day to day—but it is no life. My health is shattered. Today I coughed up blood—a lot too. Feverish nights, painful chest, sweat. Lev Nikolaevich is depressed too. But his life goes on as usual: he gets up early, cleans his rooms, eats a bowl of oatmeal cooked in water, then goes off to work. Today I found him playing patience. He ate a hearty lunch, then went off and had a sleep. He woke up in an extraordinarily cheerful mood. Looking out at the bright sun and picking a handful of dates from the window sill, he set off for the mushroom market to take a “coup d’œil” at the people selling honey, mushrooms and cranberries.*
4th August. Doctor Zakharin has told us Lyova is very ill. I always knew it in my heart. How am I to survive the loss of my son, so young, so good and so dearly loved? My heart is breaking with the strain. I must live—for little Vanechka, for Misha, for Sasha, even for Andryusha, who still has a glimmering love and tenderness for me even though so much in him has been destroyed. But it is all so hard. My husband has worn me down over the years with his coldness, and has loaded absolutely everything onto my shoulders: the children, the estate, the house, his books, his business affairs, and then, with selfish, critical indifference, he despises me. And what about his life? He walks and rides, writes a little, does whatever he pleases, never lifts a finger for his family and exploits everything to his own advantage: the services of his daughters, the comforts of life, the flattery of others, my submissiveness, my labours. And fame, his insatiable greed for fame, continually drives him on. You have to be heartless to live such a life. My poor Lyova, how deeply he has suffered for his father’s unkindness. The sight of his sick son spoils his easy sybaritic life—and that annoys him. It’s painful for me to recall Lyova’s dark suffering eyes, the sad reproachful look he gave his father when he blamed him for being ill and wouldn’t believe he was suffering. He has never experienced such pain himself, and when he is ill he is always impatient and demanding.
23rd November. The whole family is staying in Moscow. Poor sick Lyova is the centre of my life and concerns. I shall never get used to this grief. I think constantly of his sad sick stare and I suffer painfully for him. I see almost nobody and almost never leave the house. We have a new English girl, a Miss Spiers. Lyovochka, Tanya and Misha have gone over to the Pasternaks to hear some music.
I am preparing Volume 13 for publication* and reading Marcella by Mrs Humphry Ward.* Lyovochka and I have been on friendly terms, although I was angry he was so indifferent to Andryusha’s activities and never gave me any help with him. But it’s my own fault if after 32 years I still hope he will do something for me and the family. I should be grateful for all the good qualities he does have.