January–February—student riots, followed by arrests and deportations; 125 professors resign. Universities come under police control. Jews further disenfranchised. September—Stolypin, President of the Council of Ministers, assassinated by agent of security police. Ascendancy at court of the monk Rasputin and his increasing influence on government decisions. The start of a series of wars in the Balkans for control of the Ottoman Empire.
Battle over Tolstoy’s manuscripts begins, with Sofia and her sons against Chertkov and Sasha (who obtains injunction forbidding her mother access to her room at the Historical Museum and halting publication of her editions). Government declines to buy Yasnaya Polyana so as not to honour Tolstoy’s memory, but the Tsar provides his widow with a generous pension. Sofia’s brother-in-law Mikhail Kuzminsky and her sons Lev, Mikhail, Andrei and Ilya negotiate with American businessmen against her will over the possible purchase of Yasnaya (it comes to nothing). March—official opening of the Moscow Society of the Tolstoy Museum. Sofia starts work on an edition of Tolstoy’s letters to her.
1st January. Made a copy of Lev Nikol.’s diary for July and August to give to Lyova. Lovely weather, 5°, moonlit nights and such sadness! My children, grandchildren, guests and people in general are no real consolation, only a diversion. I even love my sadness, as my final contact with my Lyovochka. The tears are there, every moment of the day, but I try to restrain myself and fear them. Seryozha is closest to me, we grieve more than the others.
2nd. Proofs all morning. Took fresh flowers to the grave and scattered seeds to the birds. Wept bitterly; inconsolable, irreparable grief. Prayer is no comfort. My three grandsons have left. Andryusha returned and told me of L.N.’s fears that I might chase after him, and his tears and sobs when they told him I had tried to drown myself. It was very painful.
4th. A snowstorm this morning. The artist Orlov has arrived. Seryozha has left. I tidied the books again—so tedious! This evening my sons Ilya, Andrei and Misha rushed over and demanded 1,500 rubles to send Ilya to America to sell Yasnaya Polyana.* I find this most distasteful and distressing. I should like to see Yasnaya Polyana in Russian hands, as public property.
5th. A lot of proofs, all to no purpose, it seems. There’s no spiritual centre to the world now, no lofty, abstract life in this house—and it’s very sad! There’s no love either—although I was robbed of that long ago, the expression of it anyway, and my place in Lev Nik.’s heart.
6th. Makovitsky left here for good today. I wept; one more link with Lev Nik. is now broken. I corrected some page proofs of Volume 20 and wrote Tanya a postcard. Then I tidied some books, although there are still a lot of new ones from Makovitsky to be sorted. This evening I pasted cuttings into the album and wrote to Lev Nik.’s French translator Halpérine-Kaminsky in Paris.
8th. I am tormented by discussions with my sons about the sale of Yasnaya Polyana and Andryusha’s attempts to contest the will. I can sympathize with one aspect of this, however: his desire to disinherit the hateful Chertkov.
11th–15th (Moscow). Sasha has again fallen under the same influence that destroyed both Lev Nik. and me—Chertkov. He has set her against me, and through Muravyov, her attorney, she has issued a legal injunction barring me from my room at the Historical Museum, halting publication of my edition at the press and other similarly despicable acts. And she has found yet another ally in her persecution of me—Goldenweiser. I visited the Historical Museum, talked to the administrators and gave them a document in response to Sasha’s, also forbidding anyone to enter my room or have access to his manuscripts. Sasha has threatened to damage my edition in every way possible—let her! I left this evening for Yasnaya Polyana without coming to any agreement with her. How her late father would have grieved at her behaviour.
19th. Spent the morning reading proofs, and was about to go to the grave when my son Misha arrived from Moscow. Long discussions about how to defend ourselves against Chertkov’s and Sasha’s malevolence. Terribly painful and nerve-racking! If it wasn’t for my impoverished sons I would have given up.
20th. Painful discussions with Andryusha: “If there’s no money I’ll shoot myself!” How terrible to think like that! The newspapers and lawyers have stood up for my rights.* But how much better it would be to have peace and friendly agreement.
21st. Very depressed, the tears keep coming to my eyes. The same as usual—reading proofs and pasting in newspaper cuttings. Hypocritical feuilleton by Mr Chertkov in all the papers. The more I think about it, the more clearly I realize Lev Nik. preferred Chertkov at the end of his life, and the more sad and painful it is. Very frosty, minus 20°. Everything is bright and beautiful. How white and pure it all is…
22nd. Read 3 pages of proofs and marvelled at the artistry of Lev Nik.’s writing.
23rd. Read probably the last proofs of Youth I shall ever read. A telegram from Spiro telling me to prepare a reply to a letter from Chertkov in today’s papers, which I haven’t yet read.
24th. Wrote to Ksyunin and the State Bank. Most unpleasant to read Sasha’s letter next to Chertkov’s in all the newspapers. The persecution continues. How will it all end! At times like these one longs for death. The articles in the papers are so unpleasant; they have cheapened my beloved Lyovochka’s name, and this is unbearably painful. S.P. Spiro, a journalist for Russian Word, came to visit. I begged him not to publish anything on my behalf. Cold, minus 16°, wind. I didn’t leave the house all day. Such depression!
4th February. Oh, what sadness! The wind howled all day. I copied out some interesting pages from Lev Nik.’s notebooks—material for an unwritten work about the Peter the Great period.* Fascinating.
9th. Copied my letter to Koni.* Initialled handkerchiefs. Went to Lev Nik.’s grave and wept and prayed, begging him to forgive me for being unable to make him happier at the end of his life. I should have accepted that he preferred Chertkov, but I couldn’t. I pasted newspaper cuttings and grieved.
10th. Terrible snowstorm this morning. Copied the diary L.N. kept when he wooed and married me. Did a little sewing. I’m depressed and afraid of going to Moscow—although I must; I have to clear up things for future generations.
13th (Moscow). Sasha came, fat, red-cheeked and stubborn, secretive and spiteful as ever. Painful discussion. What a cross this daughter of mine is. A lot of tedious business and bustle. The new edition has appeared in 20 volumes.
16th. We are hurrying to sell and distribute the new edition.
17th. Went to the warehouse this morning to give various instructions, then to the bank and to Howard’s to ask about the account and the cheques. Learnt that Volumes 16, 19 and 20 of the Complete Collected Works have been seized.* This complicates everything. Home this evening.
20th. The lawyer Maklakov recommends that Sasha and I go to a court of arbitration. All courts are so painful. Ilya and Andryusha came, and briefly Misha. I went to see him and his family off from Paveletsky station. Endless partings—life is so lonely! Endless problems.
21st. Worked frantically on the sale of the new edition all morning. Paid Howard 20,000 rubles for paper and the Kushneryov printers over 15,300. Went to the bank to see Dunaev, who is a director. Did some shopping. Thawing snow and terrible mud in Moscow. Spent the evening quietly at home. Depression.
22nd. Went to the bank. Visited the museum and talked to Prince Shcherbatov about the manuscripts. The police sealed up Vols. 16, 19 and 20 in the warehouse today.
23rd. I went to the warehouse early this morning to ask the police officer not to spoil the books when they’re sealing them up, then walked to the mushroom market with my maid Verochka. Thawing. Went home, copied my summer diary and painfully relived it. Went to church. Today is the day of my Vanechka’s death. May the Lord reunite me soon with my Lyovochka and Vanechka.
2nd March. Spent the day copying out the sad story of my life during the summer of 1910. I weep for things that can never be put right, yet it was all foreordained. Stakhovich was here. Negotiations are starting today between him, Belgard and Stepanov (procurator of the Palace of Justice). Tomorrow they will be summoning me too.
3rd. Misha Stakhovich came this morning and Alexei Belgard, chief press censor, a most sympathetic man. They are defending my interests over the seizure of the 3 volumes of the Complete Collected Works, and I am grateful to them. But then one has to take L.N. Tolstoy’s widow’s wishes into account; one could hardly put her in prison or lock her in a fortress. I stayed indoors all day.
4th. My negotiations over the seizure of the 3 volumes are going badly. I shall have to reprint two volumes at least—that’s the best that can happen. At worst they can throw me in the fortress and put me on trial. I spent the day copying and weeping.
7th. Visited the editorial boards with an announcement of the sale of Lev Nik.’s works. Sat up late copying and did 4 pages—90 more to go.
9th. Prince Shcherbatov, president of the Historical Museum, called on me and stayed a long time, telling me how I could get the manuscripts back, although he said they hadn’t come to any agreement and everything was exactly as it was before. He advised me to write to Kasso, Minister of Education, and to take up the matter in St Petersburg, and if I didn’t achieve any results with the ministers to go and see the Tsar himself. I stayed at home all day and copied.
10th. I wrote two letters to Kasso, one asking them to return everything of mine to me (diaries, letters and so on), the other asking to be allowed to use various documents for my memoirs. I also prepared to leave for St Petersburg. Sonya Mamonova, Misha Olsufiev and Count Geiden dined with us, which was very pleasant. I visited the Rumyantsev Museum and the Historical Museum, asked for copies of the paintings of Lev Nik. and visited the exhibition.
12th. I worked all morning and late into the night, and finished copying my diary from June to October, when Lev Nik. left. This evening I went to vespers at the Palace Church in the Kremlin, where L.N. and I were married. The service was very crude, the deacon and the singers had the most disagreeable bass voices, the church was empty and dark, and the whole thing had a dismal effect on me. Maslova and Prince and Princess Odoevsky came to pay their respects and compliments.
14th. Took my last diary to the Historical Museum, as well as three notebooks containing Lev Nik.’s first and last diaries, and copies of various letters of his; I shall receive a receipt for these tomorrow. Then I rushed around the town—I am planning to leave for Yasnaya tomorrow. A wonderful spring day, the sun is shining, the streams are thawing—and everything is so melancholy! I long for home and the grave.
15th. Took back a book to Taneev. He is weeping for his nurse, I am weeping for my husband, and we had a good heart-to-heart talk. This evening I left for Yasnaya.
16th. I cried as I approached the house, cried when I went to the grave and cried when I went into Lev Nikol.’s room. It was as if he was still here and was about to come in and I would tell him something. Tanya’s friend Yulia Igumnova is staying, who has become very stout, and the artist Orlov. Old Dunyasha and Nurse are quietly living out their last days here. All so empty and sad! Nothing but bills, housekeeping and business.
21st. Copied out the diaries. What a lot of careful, conscientious background work on his books he put into these diaries!
23rd. I have finished copying Lev Nik.’s diaries—to my great sorrow! Now I have nothing of his to work on! Endless sadness, I sit here at home on my own all day! I have hung the large portraits of Lev Nik. on the walls. But they don’t speak to me. There are so many of them—they’re everywhere!
24th. Today I have been vividly recalling the events surrounding Lev Nik.’s last days, and despite all the anguish I feel it could not have been otherwise, it was foreordained.
27th. Went to Lev Nik.’s grave and wept inconsolably. I thought about my daughter Sasha. She must be so lonely among all those strangers, poor thing. She has left her mother, her brothers don’t love her—even her dogs come to see me, especially Belka, but she never pays her grieving mother a visit.
4th April. We read aloud my son Lyova’s letters from America.* I went to bed, then got up and talked to Lev Nik.’s translator Halpérine, and read some of his article about his departure.
10th. A warm, windy day; I went out for the first time—to Lev Nikolaevich’s grave of course. In the distance they were ringing the church bells, and ‘Christ is Risen!’ rang out over Russia. But in the forest and beside the grave there was silence, and the wind shook the withered wreaths as I prayed and wept. Then I sat in silence for a long time on a board that had been laid on a tree stump. Did Christ rise in my beloved husband’s heart when he cruelly left me and his home, and disinherited his poor sons and their families? May the Lord forgive him!
14th. My daughter Tanya arrived at 5 this morning, full of energy, common sense and sympathy as always. She has gone off to see Sasha in Telyatinki.
16th. My son Seryozha arrived. I had a good day resting my soul with people I love; my health seems better too. We had a cosy evening together—Seryozha, Tanya, Maria Schmidt, Yulia Igumnova, Andryusha, his Katya and I.
20th. How uninteresting my life is! I went out twice to visit the grave and couldn’t find the fence—they’ve broken the lock again. I read some Chekhov—very clever, but he sneers a lot and I don’t like that.
A fine morning, then a thunderstorm and a short, fierce shower. I haven’t been crying recently—I’ve grown cold, my life is a matter of endurance. “To live is to submit!” according to Fet.
21st. I read some unpleasant news in the papers today: the Palace of Justice has decided to destroy Volumes 16, 19 and 20 of my edition.* This is extremely annoying and means huge financial losses.
25th (Moscow). I went to the Palace of Justice and asked Stepanov the procurator to speed up the decision of my case concerning the seizure of the 3 volumes of the new edition.* He promised to send the decision to Sidorov, the chief censor. I then went to the Censorship Committee, where Sidorov promised to remove the ban the moment he received the court’s decision.
27th. Visited the censorship inspector at Chernyshevsky Street, then on to the Censorship Committee. They are doing all they can, and the ban on the books will be lifted tomorrow; Chefranov was here and I have assigned him to reprint the three volumes.* I worked on Volume 20 until 2 in the morning.
29th (St Petersburg). I was met by Andryusha and my sister Tanya. Everything’s so friendly and informal at the Kuzminskys’. I wrote to Countess Geiden, a maid-of-honour, about gaining an audience with the Empress, Maria Fyodorovna.
30th. Countess Geiden visited. The Empress has refused me an audience.*
1st May. Crowds of visitors. This evening was the first meeting of the Society of the Tolstoy Museum. My son Seryozha came too; he is president, I am an honorary member. A lot of dull speeches.
2nd. I visited the Winter Palace to see Naryshkina, a lady-in-waiting, and asked her to arrange an audience with the Tsar. She promised rather feebly.
3rd. Spent the morning at home, then visited Minister P.A. Stolypin; my sister Tanya came too. He understands the necessity of buying Yasnaya Polyana and giving me the manuscripts, but is afraid to announce this to the Tsar, especially now, with this new “religious” spirit at court.
5th. A lot of guests. At 8.30 this evening I visited Minister Kokovtsov about the purchase of Yasnaya Polyana.
6th. Visited my lawyer Shubinsky this morning, who promised to defend me if Sasha takes the matter to court. I am writing to Naryshkina about an audience with the Tsar in Tsarskoe Selo, and to Stolypin and the Tsar explaining the main points of my case. I cannot bear the thought of losing Yasnaya Polyana.
7th. Stayed at home and wrote to the Tsar and Minister Stolypin. Drove around town with Tanya. I’m being pestered by journalists; I miss home and long to get back and see the grave again. The sale of Yasnaya Polyana is tormenting me.
8th. My trip to Tsarskoe Selo didn’t take place; Naryshkina wrote to say it had to be cancelled because of the arrival of Grand Duchess Elizaveta Fyodorovna, but she will see me on Tuesday in the Winter Palace. So annoying! I want to go home as soon as possible. Mitya Olsufiev was here, and S.P. Auerbach. I mended sheets for Tanya and am staying at home.
10th. Went to the Winter Palace to see Naryshkina. She was most affable and gave me a copy of her memoirs, and undertook to give the Tsar my letter.* I left for Moscow this evening.
12th (Moscow). I gave the printers all the material for the reprinting of the 3 previously banned volumes.
13th. Visited the Duma and talked to Guchkov about the sale of the Moscow house.* It breaks my heart to destroy all my nests, which contain so many memories of a full and happy life.
15th. Didn’t go to the grave—there were too many visitors, and Lyovochka and I need to be alone together.
16th. Went to the grave, laid a bunch of wild flowers there and sat for a long time weeping and praying. My life is over, I am numb and indifferent to everything, my soul is heavy with suffering.
17th. I read about my Lyovochka in the books by Bulgakov, Lazursky, Rolland, Maude and the others. It’s all wrong, all wrong!
24th. Worked on my photographs. Very tired. Visited the grave. Every time I go I weep, as if I were responsible for my husband’s death. But how passionately I loved my Lyovochka—to the very last moment of his life! What happened is a complete mystery, we will never understand it.
28th. Photography all morning. This afternoon my son Seryozha arrived with Bogdanov, secretary of the Tolstoy Society in Moscow, and played some Chopin and Schumann beautifully.
30th. A lot of visitors to the grave and the estate. Spent the evening knitting, and listening with an aching heart to the gramophone.
6th June. Read an old French book called De l’Amour*—naive and insubstantial, but the language is beautiful. Copied my daily diaries.
9th (Moscow). Dined at the Praga restaurant. A pleasant conversation with the artist Nesterov and a friendly meeting with Alexei Maklakov. This evening Biryukov visited.
10th. Went shopping, finished my business in Moscow, looked at a little house I might buy after selling this one. A hot, bright day. Left this evening for Yasnaya. I gave photographs to Mey for his album.
11th. Painfully sad homecoming to a deserted Yasnaya Polyana. A nasty scene with the Circassian guard, who had robbed a woman in the village of her grass; I ordered him to give it back.
15th. Some valuers from Tula and St Petersburg came to look over the estate. Endless bustle all day. The plan is for me to move to the Kuzminskys’ wing.* Everything is different, life is in decline, and it’s all very hard.
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.
22nd. The house was cleaned and I tidied my Lyovochka’s rooms myself. He is always in my thoughts, and I am glad to be able to live on in this house as if he was still here. Nyuta and I played Haydn’s 20th Symphony, which I used to play with Lyovochka. I painted wooden dolls for my grandchildren, who will soon be here.
24th. 27–30° of frost. 18° this evening, but windy. I did some copying on the Remington for my daughter Tanya. I also wrote her a letter. Then I read ‘The Forged Coupon’.* What a lot of murders! It is painful to read.
25th. Christmas. Alone with Yulia. I walked on my own to the grave, weeping and praying. I entered the library books into the catalogue (the returned ones), gave the peasants presents and worked hard on my memoirs for 1895, the year of Vanechka’s death. It’s strange, when I go back to the past, even the painful times, I stop living in the present and live entirely in my memories—they’re so vivid, they’re almost real.
26th. Dushan Makovitsky was here. I worked all day on my memoirs, preparing material for each month. 13° of frost, slight snow. They’re doing a performance in Telyatinki of Poverty’s No Sin, and everyone is hurrying over to see it.
29th. We are decorating the Christmas tree and listening to the gramophone, which I dislike very much.
31st. I was busy with the children and the Christmas tree, and talked to Ilya. Such a depressing year—yet I’m still alive! Cold wind and a blizzard, so Sonyushka and Ilyushok couldn’t come. Ilya’s elder sons didn’t come either, and the Christmas tree and New Year’s party were dreadfully unexciting. So much sadness—not to speak of Sasha’s estrangement; she must be lonely surrounded by strangers. Sonya went to visit her in Telyatinki.