Tolstoy and Tolstaya: A Portrait of a Life in Letters

The story narrated in the first part of the correspondence covers two decades: the 1860s and 1870s — very important years in the life of the newly formed Tolstoy family, which happened to coincide with the apogee of Leo Tolstoy’s creative activity. At the same time the Russian Empire was undergoing significant social, political and cultural transformations.

The Tolstoys spent most of the time on their Yasnaya Polyana estate, taking occasional trips to Moscow and later to the Bashkir Volga region. It never occurred to Lev Nikolaevich to show the larger world to his wife, whose time was divided between taking care of their growing family, assisting him in running the estate as well as in the creation of his literary works.

It was during the first two decades of their marriage that Tolstoy wrote his two greatest novels: War and Peace [Vojna i mir] (1863–1869) and Anna Karenina (1873–1877). In between, when his artistic genius needed some rest through a change of activity, he revived his old passion for teaching and, with significant input from Tolstaya, prepared the first edition of his Primer [Azbuka].

During the 1870s, he also attempted to clarify for himself the essence of philosophy, religion and science as “three ways” of pursuing a greater, unifying “truth about the world” that he had always genuinely sought and was now seeking with even greater urgency. Finding significant flaws in all three “ways”, he reasoned himself into a desperate moral and philosophical quagmire, which, by the end of the 1870s, resulted in his well-known spiritual crisis.

This bursting intellectual and busy family life in Yasnaya Polyana may have been physically remote but was never completely shielded from the mainstream of external events. During the reign of Emperor Alexander II (1855–1881), Russia lived through a period of profound political and social reforms. The most prominent of these was the 1861 emancipation of peasant serfs from their master-owners, although the failure to provide them with land to call their own meant a significant degree of continuing subordination. Other reforms dealt with finances (1863), education (1863, 1871), local administration (1864 in the countryside, 1870 in the cities), the legal system (1864), transportation (1865) and the military (1874). In the meantime, the empire celebrated the Russian ‘Millennium’ (1862), concluded its conquest of the Caucasus (1864), began encroaching on Central Asian territories (1865), suppressed a major Polish uprising (1863–64) and won yet another Russo-Turkish war (1877–78).

The upheaval associated with these events agitated, perplexed and greatly perturbed many sectors of Russian society. It gave rise on the one hand to significant conservative resistance to reforms in general and, on the other, to heightened expectations of social progress, even to extreme revolutionary ideas. The latter were seen notably in the populist movement of khozhdenie v narod [going to the people], which began in the early 1860s and peaked in 1874, and its transformation into terrorist activities, including numerous attempts on the life of the Emperor (beginning in 1866).

The fermentation of reforms also made itself felt in Russian cultural development. The 1860s, for example, saw the emergence in St. Petersburg of the Moguchaja kuchka [Mighty Five] — a group of five composers (Mily Balakirev, Alexander Borodin, César Cui, Modest Mussorgsky and Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov), who created new patterns in Russian classical music. At the same time Russian art witnessed the rise of its own, and much larger, ground-breaking group, the Peredvizhniki [Itinerants] (including Pavel Brullov, Ivan Kramskoi, Isaac Levitan and Ilya Repin).

These two decades were especially noteworthy for the rise in prominence of Russian literature. Apart from Tolstoy himself, those best known in the West were Ivan Turgenev with works like Fathers and Sons [Ottsy i deti] (1862) and Virgin Soil [Nov’] (1877), and Fyodor Dostoevsky with his Crime and Punishment [Prestuplenie i nakazanie] (1866) and The Brothers Karamazov [Brat’ja Karamazovy] (1879–80). Other writers of the period included Ivan Goncharov, Nikolai Leskov and Alexander Ostrovsky. In the end, Tolstoy, Dostoevsky and Turgenev rose to prominence during this time and established themselves as uncontested stars on the Russian and world literary scene.

Nº 1 – SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY
[LSA 1]
[28 August 1862. Pokrovskoe-Streshnevo]¹

If I were the Empress,² I would honour your birthday³ with a most gracious Imperial rescript. As a mere mortal, however, I can only congratulate you for making your appearance in God’s world one fine day, and I hope that for many more days to come — for ever, if that be possible — you will continue to see it through the same eyes as you do now.

Sonja

Nº 2 – LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA
[PSS 83/2]
14 September 1862. Moscow.

Sofia Andreevna!

It’s becoming simply unbearable for me. Three weeks have passed, and every day I tell myself: it’s time to let everything out, and walk away with the same longing, fear and happiness in my soul. And every night, as at this moment, I am constantly going over the past, torturing myself and telling myself: why didn’t I say it, how should I say it, and what should I say? I’m carrying this letter around with me to give to you, in case it should happen again that I’m not able, or can’t muster up the courage, to tell you everything in person.

Your family’s false opinion of me, as I see it, comes down to their belief that I’m in love with your sister, Liza.⁴ That’s uncalled for. Your story⁵ has become ingrained in my head, since, in reading it, I became convinced that, Dublitsky⁶ that I am, I’m forbidden to dream of happiness… that your distinct, poetic demands of love… that I have never envied and shall never envy anyone you may bestow your love upon. I felt that I should be able to delight in you as I would delight in children.

Back at Ivitsy ⁷ I wrote: All too vividly your presence reminds me of my age, and the impossibility of my obtaining happiness, you in particular.⁸

But even back then, and since, I lied to myself. Back then I would have been able to cut all ties and once more shut myself up in a monastery of lonely labour and concentration on my work. Now I can’t do anything. I feel I’ve thrown your family into a quandary, that my simple, endearing relations with you as a friend, as an honest person, are now lost. I can’t leave, and I dare not stay. I implore you, honest person that you are, with your hand on your heart, tell me what to do — but not to hurry, for God’s sake don’t hurry. “He who laughs last, laughs best.” I would have died of laughter if someone had told me a month ago that I could suffer the way I’m suffering now, and be happy suffering, this time. Tell me as an honest person, do you want to be my wife?⁹ Only if you can fearlessly, from the bottom of your heart, say yes. If there is even a shadow of a doubt in your mind, it would be better to say no.

For God’s sake, ask yourself the question in all honesty.

I’m terrified of your saying no, but I’m prepared for it and shall find within myself the strength to bear it, but if, as a husband, I should never be loved in the same way I myself love, that would be worse.

Nº 3 – LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA
[PSS 83/3]
Second half of October 1862. Yasnaya Polyana.

I’ve had tremendous delight from reading all these letters.¹⁰ And I read them with you. Read with me, too. How marvellous, how precious they [your family] all are! All of them. Better your world than mine, which is wretched, what with workmen and all.¹¹

Nº 4 – LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA
[PSS 83/10]
22–23 April 1864. Pirogovo.

22 April, 10 a.m.

We arrived safe and sound,¹² nothing got torn or broken, and Sasha¹³ was pleased with his seat. When we reached Pirogovo, before entering the house we went into the stable-yard and it was so sad — passionately so! — looking at the stables, which before had been filled with thousands of horses and now sat empty or furnished with cots. — I hadn’t been to Pirogovo for four years, and it was terribly heartwrenching, after all its former abundance and luxury, to see such squalor, and amidst the squalor the town house with the paths under the windows strewn with rubble. It turned out that the house was unheated, and we (we, I was freezing, especially sitting on the coach-box) went to the foreman, an astonishingly pitiful and laughable dummer Junge, as I mentioned to Këller.¹⁴ On Serëzha’s estate there is nothing for me to do, though I feel that I am useful even if only in meaningful conversation with the peasant Elder and the Foreman. Today I made a mistake. They were rounding up some cattle and one of the peasants took it upon himself to take [some of] them away, I frightened him, and he came to ask forgiveness. But this man had no nose and was thus quite pitiful-looking, and I forgave him — not the fine but [any additional] punishment. And now I regret what I did. Sasha and Këller have gone off hunting, and I’m sitting here with the priest, who tells me this fellow lost his nose when he went visiting some ‘society ladies’. We’re very hungry, but we had our fill of tea, and Serëzhka¹⁵ is cooking us some chicken.

23 April, 4:30 a.m. I awoke at 4, despite going to bed around midnight, and right off I woke up everyone else, ordering [the servants] to put on the samovar and get the horses ready. — The house is literally a cardboard playhouse and is beautifully furnished down to the last detail, but it was so cold that [yesterday] we took our dinner, or rather, supper, in the kitchen. I kept chatting with the priest, while Serëzhka stood right here beside us cooking over the stove.

After supper I took a detailed tour through the whole house and recognised [my brother] Serëzha’s things (various and sundry objects) which I hadn’t seen in ages, which I knew from 25 years ago, when we were both children, and I became incredibly sad, as though I had lost him for ever. And it was almost true. They [Sasha Behrs and Këller] slept together upstairs, and I below, probably on the same sofa on which Tanja had held his [hands] behind the screens.¹⁶ And this sad and poetic story played out vividly in my imagination. Two good people — two kind and beautiful people — the ageing gentleman and the girl barely out of childhood, and now both of them unhappy;¹⁷ and I realise how the memory of that night — alone in that empty, charming little house — will remain for both of them the most poetic recollection of their lives, and because they were both so dear, especially Serëzha. Anyway, lying there on the same sofa, I started feeling sad about them, about Serëzha — especially when I caught sight of the little box of paints — right here in the room — which he used to paint with when he was 13 years old; he was a decent, fun-loving, straightforward lad. He liked to draw all the time, and sang song after song without stopping. And now, it seems that he — that Serëzha — is no more.

Later I experienced a ringing in my ears and began to miss you terribly (I’m not missing Serëzha so much yet) and became fearful about how I had left you all alone; then I fell asleep and dreamt about various characters from my novel.¹⁸ — We are continuing our journey on Masha’s horses, while Këller is bringing a beekeeper in the cart with my horses; he wasn’t able to come earlier since his brother-in-law died the other day. The beekeeper also promised to bring with him a woman cook (along with Këller). I’m afraid Këller might have been offended. I also hired a peasant [a freed serf] named Kondratij [Pimenov] (who lived at Serëzha’s and had been dismissed by the Foreman) with the idea of returning him to Serëzha when the latter got back. But according to Këller, Serëzha already has a high estimation of him.

From what can be seen on the surface, Serëzha and Masha’s estate is not doing too poorly, and even the cabinet-maker/foreman isn’t as bad as he seemed at first. — I beg of you, while I’m gone, please don’t let yourself be pulled down (as Tanja influences you), but act the way you did when you went to Myshka’s¹⁹ and played the piano and only Serëzha²⁰ distracts you. (If Serëzha’s not well, send for me right away.) I suggest you don’t stay sitting [all day long], but keep walking around — otherwise (if I dare say it) my absence will make you feel sadder. — I’ll still keep writing to you every day, as I’m doing now — even if I have to bring you the letters myself, and you, please do write; but don’t send your letter by post, it won’t get here. Rather, Saturday evening send out Jakov,²¹ if he happens to come and if there is someone [else] to fetch the rest of the horses, then send out Jakov with the horses (shod) to Lapotkovo. He can stay overnight there and on Sunday meander over to Sergievskoe. He can spend the night there, too, if we don’t arrive the same day. He’ll bring me your letter. At Lapotkovo he can check in at the post station, and in Sergievskoe he can stay with Cherëmushkin.²² He can carry 2 measures of oats with him and buy whatever he needs more. Dorka²³ has abandoned you, I’m sure. If she’s still there, tell Pëtr Fëdorov²⁴ not to let go of the rope or the chain holding her for one second. Farewell, and my love to my Aunties.²⁵

Nº 5 – SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY
[LSA 2]
23 [April 1864], evening [Yasnaya Polyana]

I also wanted to describe to you — thoroughly and accurately — all that has been going on here with us this past day and a half, but all of a sudden Serëzha started wheezing, his chest was congested, and I was overcome with such fear that as usual I’m starting to feel lost and terrified. And it’s worse and even more frightening without you here. I’ve been using all sorts of remedies for a cold, I hope to God it’s not serious. But I find it terribly, terribly difficult, and I’m both miserable and frightened without you. He’s asleep now, and so I’ve decided to describe everything to you. — Yesterday after you left I held myself together and didn’t weep. But suddenly it seemed I was overwhelmed by so many things to do, and I ran to and fro in a daze, all in a bother, but ask me now what I did, — I don’t know. I kept on fussing over Serëzha and hardly let him out of my hands. I didn’t go for any walk, and spent the evening knitting. When I got to my room and I really wanted to lie down, all of a sudden I felt so bored that I sat up for two hours writing, and when that didn’t work out, I wept, and hardly got to sleep the whole night long. And when I dozed off, I kept having fearful dreams and took fright and woke up. At five o’clock Dorka roused us. Tanja ²⁶ (she was sleeping in the drawing-room) got up, dressed herself and let her out on a lead. But again there was the same fuss with the dogs, and Tanja picked up Dorka in her arms and carried her into the house. Then she was locked up and taken off to Moscow only at 11 o’clock. It took quite a time as it was hard to get away from the [local] dogs.

After five o’clock I still couldn’t get much sleep. I rose at eleven and seemed to be ill, I felt so under the weather. Serëzha was cheerful, and healthy, and just a dear. Over tea I found out that Nikolaj²⁷ was ill and couldn’t even cook. I went to the kitchen and spent the whole morning cooking. Tanja brought me your letter²⁸ in the kitchen. I was so excited and got all flustered. I read it and simply sighed with delight. In fact, it seems like you left a long time ago. Everything you wrote about [your brother] Serëzha resonated with me so much that I just felt like weeping, and all at once I felt so much love for him that I, too, began to pity him. I’m very glad you thought to write — we didn’t make any kind of arrangement [ahead of time], I didn’t want to say anything at the time, since it was so difficult to say good-bye as it was. And now it grieves me to write, and I keep avoiding calling you by name, since it’s as though I’m talking with you and you’re not there, and it’s even harder on me. After getting your letter they brought mail from the post office — from S. Gorstkina,²⁹ from Anetochka,³⁰ as well as from Islavin³¹ and [your brother] Serëzha. These last ones I’m forwarding to you. I’m sure Serëzha’s letter will cheer you up. I’ve been so delighted about him, words fail me. In any case he’s morally improved, and it seems I get upset so easily these days that I take everything very much to heart. Don’t get angry that we opened the letter. It was a joy for all and that’s the only reason I have no regrets — [but] if that displeases you, I do apologise and beg forgiveness. — Serëzha’s coughing something terrible; I’m beginning to feel out of sorts and tomorrow I’ll send for the doctor and let you know if he’s not any better.

24 [April]. After lunch.

Everything’s cleared up here, and it bothers me that you’re still on the road and worrying about us all. I’ll be soon telling you everything in person. I’m writing to make the time pass more quickly — and it’s still as though I’m chatting with you. What happened to me yesterday? I can’t remember at all! Quite unexpectedly, we were sitting down to tea, and all at once Serëzha ³² started coughing. I got up and took a look, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Then everything took a turn for the worse; I was writing and then heard another cough. I went into the nursery and there he was starting to choke. I was confused at first, and don’t even remember anything about people around me. He sounded as though he were coughing from a barrel and started gasping for breath, but I soon came to my senses, even though I was still weeping. One thing I know: it was very serious and probably dangerous, and everyone, especially Tanja and Tat’jana Aleksandrovna,³³ were very frightened. I feel like boasting that I took good charge of the situation, though if you say I acted wrongly, I’d probably agree with you. I sent for Ivan Ivanovich³⁴ and asked him to go at once to [fetch] Shmigaro,³⁵ and if he couldn’t come, to bring any doctor. I also ordered Kondratij³⁶ to join me. And I had Dunjasha³⁷ make a mustard plaster and a poultice, which I was reminded of by Këller. (Apparently he took it very much to heart.) I gave Serëzha some castor oil and applied the mustard. If you could only see how pitiful he looked. He was crying, gasping for breath, smarting from the mustard. He kept twitching his little legs and grasping hold of my hair, my earrings, my collar, as though he was wanting to crawl right into me and begging me to save him. I kept holding him in my arms and the more he suffered, the more lively his twitchings seemed to be, along with his love for me and all his facial expressions, and I thought he was going to die. I remembered, too, that you would have taken him from me and got angry with me, while I would have given God knows what for you to be with me. In thinking about Serëzha’s death, I began to be more fearful in your absence. You just can’t imagine the sense of loneliness which I go through when you’re away, and which I went through especially yesterday with my sick Serëzha. I started to figure out how I could let you know as quickly as possible. Kondratij arrived. It turned out that on horseback it would have taken him a whole day and night or even longer; and he didn’t have any [travel] documents; otherwise I would have sent him on a post-horse. Tanja says: “Send Aleksej.”³⁸ He agreed, and here you can see my report. Thank God, he was sent in vain; it would have been worse if it hadn’t turned out to be in vain. I need you terribly, I am so exhausted and there’s nobody I can find peace with. Tanja and Auntie Tat’jana Aleksandrovna have been terribly kind. Their loving nature was fully evident. Tanja kept running the whole time: between the servants, the workers, relaying my orders; she didn’t get a whole night’s sleep, only about three hours, and helped in everything, even though she herself was trembling and crying with fright, and Tat’jana Aleksandrovna was both sprightly and kind, and supported me simply through her genuine sympathetic support. We were all very afraid. I didn’t see Auntie Polina.³⁹ She overate and slept soundly the whole night, only she went to the tent and overindulged in peppermint. Forgive me for being so coarse and malicious towards her.

After the mustard-plaster and the castor oil Serëzha fell asleep, but kept gasping horribly all night long. I continued to apply poultices and he slept the whole night without his bedclothes, he was so touching and dear, in the dearest baby poses. Auntie Tat’jana Aleksandrovna and I — à la lettre — didn’t fall asleep even for a moment. I maintained constant watch over him to make sure he didn’t suffocate, while Auntie kept dropping by. Nobody got undressed. I continued to rub him with warm oil, but there was no way I could make him perspire. How much I kept going over in my mind that night, how much I loved you, how distinctly I understood and felt what a superb individual you are and how I loved you! I lay on the sofa and kept my ear out for the doctor. Several times I would run out to the porch to see if he were coming, and each time Këller would come out from the study and ask: “Wie geht [es] de[m] Kleine[n]?”.⁴⁰ He never got undressed either and didn’t blow out the candles. Some time between four and five Ivan Ivanovich appeared and with him some chubby blond doctor. I brought the doctor into the nursery and asked Ivan Ivanovich who this might be. Apparently Shmigaro didn’t come, and this was Vigand,⁴¹ whom they had some difficulty in persuading to come. He kept making excuses, saying we were Shmigaro’s patients and he wouldn’t come. On three occasions Vigand gave Serëzha 85 drops of antimony. He applied the mustard plaster not to the boy’s chest as we had done, but to his back, and gave him syrup which was quite effective against the coughing. Once again I was in fearful torment: poor Serëzha was terribly flustered; he was nauseous and vomiting; he kept lying against my shoulder and grasping hold of me. You can’t imagine what a pitiful sight he was! But he stopped choking, and started breathing more and more normally, and calmly went to sleep. All of us got together for tea, by this time it was six o’clock and already light out. Everybody calmed down, and I saw that the danger had passed, but I was still bothered by his coughing and breathing, and I still have not found my peace about that. He ate well, had a decent sleep and his system was nicely cleared out. But his tenderness towards me is overwhelming. I always feel like crying, my nerves are shot, maybe because of that. He’s got thinner and has begun to look even more like you. I don’t see you and I keep wishing to recognise your features in his little face and note a resemblance. When the doctor left I lay down and slept about an hour and a half in the nursery. Everything seems so foggy in my mind — last night, Nature, people — you know, how after a sleepless night, and when I thought about you, there was this terrible emptiness, ennui and everything seems like it’s not for me, like I’ve died and only Serëzha’s health and you bring me back to life. And this feeling persists even right this moment. Serëzha’s been getting better and better, Auntie’s been sleeping, Tanja’s been running everywhere — into the garden and goodness-knows-where else, and I’m constantly with Serëzha, and always with the most joyful but alarming thoughts about you. Around three o’clock [in the afternoon] we all came alive, washed and dressed; Këller went to Tula, Serëzha actually began playing and laughing and I sat down to have something to eat. Then I was in the nursery again, Serëzha’s love for me — I’m very attached to him. Around half-past four we had dinner, and then, with my permission, Ivan Ivanovich went horseback-riding with [his] son and Tanja. The other day they rode out to look for peasants’ horses in our meadows, but didn’t catch any. Now after dinner I went to Myshka’s and again I seemed dead to everything. The weather was magnificent, for a whole hour and a half the sun shone especially brightly on the grass — I couldn’t help noticing. Myshka wasn’t in. I returned home and met up with Ivan Ivanovich, Tanja and Anatol’.⁴² Tanja was simply radiant. A real charmer all fresh and bright-looking in her velvet jacket and hat with multi-coloured little feathers. I felt just a bit envious, and I thought you, too, would be struck by her — it was even a little frightening. Compared to poor me with my scrunched-up face, pitiful looks and such an inelegant gait. — Back home, while Serëzha slept I did a bit of writing, then he called me away, later I started writing again and have been writing right up ’til now. They’re putting him to bed, and I shall now dismiss the nurse and stay with him myself until you arrive. I’m definitely waiting for you at night now. Are you coming? I shall probably wait in vain. But how I want to see you, just as soon as possible!

Nº 6 – LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA
[PSS 83/14]
9 August 1864. Pirogovo.

Sunday.

We went by the old road. After we had gone 4 versts I ran into a little bog and made a failed attempt at shooting a snipe. Later, near Pirogovo, at the Ikonsky settlement I killed a snipe and a double snipe as well. Tanja and a bunch of country boys were there and let out a shriek of excitement. At Pirogovo we were met by Mashen’ka,⁴³ the children, Grisha,⁴⁴ and along with them Serëzha [Sergej Nikolaevich] and Auntie [Tat’jana Aleksandrovna]. I tried to persuade Mashen’ka to go and see you. At the moment she can’t or doesn’t want to. Auntie was the first to mention that we had left you all alone, and said she would go. I urged her to go the following day, but she didn’t say when. It would have been all perfectly wonderful, if it hadn’t been for the presence of Serëzha and Tanja, which infects all our interactions with tension and insincerity. I find this singing and going out to the balcony and everything terribly annoying. This whole experience is ruining my life. I feel constantly awkward and fearful for both of them. I had hardly managed to have dinner than they started to gather round. Masha offered a cart and a horse, Këller went with me to Vorotynka. That’s 12 versts from Pirogovo. That evening we found nothing except for Vasilij Nikolaevich Bibikov⁴⁵ who was returning from hunting in the same bog we were heading for. He assured us that there was absolutely no game to be found, but I persuaded him to spend the night with us. We stayed the night at a peasant’s [farm]. I had a sound sleep in the barn together with Dorka to keep me warm and with no insects around. At 4 in the morning we were wakened by shots from the bog, which is about a quarter of a verst from the village. There were about five hunters there already. We went, and I shot at one double snipe but missed, later I killed one, as did Këller. Then we went looking farther. And we didn’t find anything except hunters — seventeen of them had gathered here in one day, yesterday, from various parts. I should have come two weeks earlier. This bog is famous, and people come here from all around. — By evening we had joined up with another young married Bibikov ⁴⁶ and the young Marsochnikov,⁴⁷ and at this point, on the way home, I found and killed two snipes. It was already after 5 when we approaching Pirogovo. Bibikov (Nikolai) persuaded me to dine at his place (he lives 2 versts from Mashen’ka’s). I accepted, took dinner (but the butter was bad) and was about to leave when [my brother] Serëzha appeared. He was completely unaware that we were here; he was simply out for a drive with his ‘Zephyrlets’⁴⁸ and dropped by. We rode home together. We had our fill of tea and then supper, and I lay down with Dorka in the outbuilding where, they say, are bedbugs, but I had an excellent sleep, and don’t know whether there were any around or not. There was something going on between Serëzha and Tanja — I can see the tell-tale signs, and find this extremely annoying. Nothing but grief — and grief for everyone — will come of it. And in no way will there be any good. At the moment I am up, everyone’s asleep, and so I’ve got hold of a notebook and am writing to Sonja — it’s hard to live without her. —

Yesterday on my way back to Pirogovo I thought of then going back to Yasnaya; I’ve been feeling so fearful for you and Serëzha, who I’ve had dreams about. And it bothered me that Auntie wouldn’t go and hasn’t gone. But when Auntie announced that she would be going with Tanja the next day, I decided to go to Nikol’skoe[-Vjazemskoe]. I doubt I shall go any farther [than that]. Write [to me] care of the post stations. Possibly I’ll find a letter waiting for me at Chern’. — I’m quite out of sorts. You say I’ll forget. Not for a moment, especially when I’m with people. When I’m out hunting I may forget — I’m just thinking about double snipes — but around people, with every encounter I think about you once again, and I keep wanting to tell you things that I can’t tell anybody else. Now I’m on my way to Nikol’skoe, where I’ll spend the whole day tomorrow, and probably won’t go anywhere else, and the day after I’ll come back. I’ll write to you from Chern’.

Nº 7 – LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA
[PSS 83/15]
9 August 1864. Chern’.

I love you so much! My dove, my dear.

The whole way to Chern’ I kept thinking: no, there will no doubt be some mix-up with the letters and I shan’t receive anything in Chern’. I get there, and Tomas’ former foreman⁴⁹ — what a dear face this foreman has! — says: Would you care to receive some letters? No. And I was so hungry, I was so busy with my soup I didn’t yet ask. What a sweet letter,⁵⁰ and how sweet you are. I’m at peace, and by the letter I can see that you’re in a very good — if not cheerful — state of mind. I’m not thinking of going to see Fet ⁵¹ or Kireevskij,⁵² à moins qu’il n’arrive quelque chose d’extraordinaire. Not to go to Nikol’skoe and return to you as I wanted to would have been shameful, moreover [going to Nikol’skoe] was necessary, and without you there can be no pleasure for me in anything except hunting. I can’t hunt at Kireevskij’s or Fet’s. I’ve thought this over now. What if I were to go see Kireevskij, I would have to write him in advance and arrive before he headed out. I am not cancelling the date of the 15th, only I shall try to arrive earlier. It’s now 7 [p.m.] and I am in Chern’. That means I shan’t get to Nikol’skoe before tomorrow. And I have to finally take a look around and get a good familiarity with this estate, which I do not know and have not seen, never mind that I’ve been living off its proceeds for five years already. Do question Tanja about big Serëzha’s [i.e. Sergej Nikolaevich’s] mood. Now here’s something funny. On my way out from Masha’s I ducked into the bog near the roadside. I see Serëzha, Grisha and Këller on their way in. I think to myself: there they are, and I’ll meet up with them, talk a bit, only right at that moment I feel the call of Nature, and need to go fast, so I’ll be free to meet up with them. I sat down in the bog and… Serëzha comes riding by, all in a huff… “Bye-bye!” “Bye-bye!” I’m quite certain that in this incident he must have seen something out of the ordinary that gave him offence. Either from something in his nature or his relations with Tanja, or from something in my nature, but I’ve had oh so hard a time relating to him. I keep asking myself these days: is there something wrong with me? — but no, Auntie’s been really dear to me. Mashen’ka’s exceptionally dear and kind; not to mention the Zephyrlets, but still he constrains me, makes me feel uncomfortable. —

Along the way I met an architect I know and invited him to pay me a visit. He’ll come around the 16th. On my own horses I reached Krasnyj Dvor, 18 versts beyond Sergievskoe, and sent them to [Boris Filippovich] Cherëmushkin’s to be fed pending my return. Tell Ivan Ivanovich to order someone — maybe Kondratij [Pimenov] — to take care of the horses in the stable. Tell him, too, not to sow two desjatinas of the best acreage (the richest in manure), but leave it for the wheat they’ll be bringing from Nikol’skoe. As to the choice of acreage, he should ask advice from Timofej⁵³ the peasant elder. Tell him, too, to take a look at the seed clover — not to spoil it, but to make sure the tips don’t get broken off. Also the seed clover beyond the grove needs to be winnowed. [Tell him] to send ten girls and Sonja along with them, as soon as the weather is good, and pinch off the tips, gather them in their aprons, and from the aprons [shake them] into the cart. —

I hope that both Tanjas [Tat’jana Aleksandrovna Ergol’skaja and Tat’jana Andreevna Behrs] are with you, give them a kiss from me. I shan’t say anything further about you. This time I feel you closer to me than ever.

Nº 8 – LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA
[PSS 83/16]
10 or 11 August 1864. Novoselki.

An opportune moment again. Fet will bring you my letter. I arrived yesterday at Nikol’skoe at 8 [p.m.]. A frightening event there, which left a horrible impression on me.⁵⁴ An elderly cattle tender dropped a bucket into the well in the stableyard. The well was only 12 arshins deep. She sat on a plank of wood and told a peasant to lower her down. The peasant was an elder and a beekeeper, the only one in Nikol’skoe who was near and dear to me. The old woman climbed down and fell off the plank. The peasant elder asked that he himself be lowered down. He got half-way down, then fell off the plank, too. [Those standing around] ran to fetch more people, and in half an hour they pulled them out, [but] both were dead. The well was only three-quarters full of water. They buried them yesterday. I didn’t sleep well, the flies were biting. I got up at 10 and received a note saying that Fet was here and would be leaving presently. I went to Borisov’s⁵⁵ and am writing from his place. Fet is ill and in a gloomy mood. He doesn’t want to come and see us. The Nikol’skoe estate is doing very well, but the harvest isn’t too good. Tomorrow I’ll have a look at the lands [at Nikol’skoe-Vjazemskoe] and shall probably be ready [to return home]. — Pity we weren’t able to live together at Nikol’skoe. Fet is sitting [here] and spinning out terrific puns, and is quite entertaining. Borisov will give [us] a [hunting] dog. —

Farewell, my sweet. Now I’ll send [a servant] to Chern’. Maybe there is a letter from you waiting there. —

At Borisov’s there is an abundance of plums, and Fet says that the people who live here are very happy looking for plums.

Hugs and kisses. Tell Serëzha atàta, atàta.

10 August.

Nº 9 – SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY
[LSA 4]
[11 August 1864], Tuesday evening [Yasnaya Polyana]

Right now I’ve been feeling so down-and-out, dear Lëvochka,⁵⁶ that all my cheerfulness has vanished, and I have such a great longing to see you very, very soon. This all came from your sweet letter,⁵⁷ your love for me and the fact that we are living better and better together in this life. I’m saddened that you won’t be returning right away; besides, my Serëzha is still not well, and that’s because the cow is sick. Her legs are so weak she can’t even walk. But all this is happening, it seems, for a reason. He’s started to make such a good recovery; and all at once comes such a misfortune! He’s having painless bowel movements, without effort, but very fluid and often. He’s been enjoying good sleep and eats decent meals. Now he’s out and about all day, since the weather is marvellous, warm and calm. My day went like this: I got up, as usual, at eight o’clock, had a good sleep for the first night [in a long time], since Serëzha slept soundly; then I sent [my sister] Tanja to Yasenki. She brought me your letter, and I spent the whole morning clearing away all the books — yours and ours — dusted them all down, washed the shelves and got exhausted. This is the last time I’m doing any cleaning of clutter before I give birth; it’s not easy work. Later I was overtaken by a desire for orderliness and I began clearing away everything. Before dinner I did some drawing and it’s going rather poorly, but this time I want to hold through and finish what I’ve started. I had dinner at four o’clock sharp. Our steward has been performing his duties admirably, as have we all. Then I went for a walk with Serëzha through all our gardens. Yesterday the watchman, a [retired] soldier, was drunk and he is most repulsive; the old man Kondratij is constantly drunk — and I’ve told Ivan Ivanovich [Orlov] to pay attention to this. Pushkin [a Tula merchant] and Kuz’ma [the greenhouse gardener] are peeling pears and plums, and Kuz’ma is very diligent, except when he’s working in the vegetable garden. I have conveyed all your instructions to Ivan Ivanovich. Pity that the best acreage has already been sown, your letter took a long time to get here. Tanja checked just last night and there was still no letter. Now I’m going to take a bath and go to bed around nine, since the evenings without you and Serëzha are very sad and long. Serëzha’s turned pale again, and he looks so sick and feeble. As for big Serëzha, I’ve spoken with Tanja. She tells me he said the same thing as you, i.e. that you were somehow worried and anxious, that he wanted to speak with you about some matter, but that you didn’t feel up to it; he was wondering whether there might have been some bad news from Yasnaya. But there was nothing wrong with him at Pirogovo and he was cheerful, and nothing wrong with Tanja; she gave me her word that there was nothing wrong, or the slightest hint of anything between them. I’ve now been having quite a bit of frank conversation with Tanja. She complains a lot about you, saying you have quite a bad opinion of her, that you aren’t very nice to her, that you consider her an awful flirt and that she feels very awkward and confused in your presence. Of course she believes this is not completely random, and she’s deserved it, but won’t admit it. And I’ve told her straight out what I think and what’s in my heart, and she has appreciated my frankness.

Our Auntie [Tat’jana Aleksandrovna Ergol’skaja] keeps walking up and down the pathways with an umbrella and wants to eat everything in sight: peaches, chicken, apples. She’s in very good spirits and kind. And now she’s been telling us touching tales of old times, about the death of everybody close to her and, as always, you know, her voice has been trembling a little and her feelings are very touching. In the meantime I was drawing, and Tanja, too, was listening [to Auntie]. My dearest Lëva, couldn’t you possibly come home right away? I’m already dreaming you’ll get this letter at Chern’ on your way home. I don’t know what you mean when you say you’re “not thinking of going to see Fet or Kireevskij, à moins qu’il n’arrive quelque chose d’extraordinaire”. But what extraordinary thing could happen? Farewell for now; tomorrow morning I’ll write some more and send this letter. Kisses to you, my sweet.

Nº 10 – SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY
[LSA 5]
22 November [1864], Sunday, 10 p.m. [Yasnaya Polyana]

I’ve just put my little girl ⁵⁸ to bed, dear Lëvochka, and now I’ve sat down to write to you before I fall asleep over this letter. The girl has been quite rebellious, while the boy has lately been having severe diarrhœa — six times already, though he has been sleeping very well at night. Perhaps it’s for the better, but still there’s a lot of grief. There’s a blush of smallpox starting, but I’m not afraid of smallpox. That’s my report on your own children, I’ve nothing more to say about them. Now they’re sleeping like little cherubs, while their nanny ⁵⁹ is on the lezhanka [stove-bench] drinking tea. What condition will you be in when this letter reaches you? I don’t have great expectations, only that God will give you the strength to bear life as best you can. Tomorrow I’m sending [a servant] to pick up a wire either at [your brother] Serëzha’s or at the telegraph office; pity we did not arrange ahead of time as to where your telegram should be sent.⁶⁰ Lëva, my dove, please tell me the whole truth; I know that after eight weeks [following your accident] it is very difficult and painful, and probably dangerous to set a bone, but I hope in spite of everything it will turn out all right.

Don’t you be thinking about us, but, more importantly, think about yourself, get some good treatment — maybe there are better specialists in Petersburg than in Moscow. You must surely be there by now, if the carriage arrived on time and didn’t break down. Our Behrs family must have been happy to see you. I feel I’m mentally with you all now that I can picture you not on the road, but in the Kremlin.⁶¹ I can breathe easier, and I don’t feel so sad. This time when you left, I went to see the children, and while I was looking at them in their beds, I felt just a slight twinge of frustration concerning them — the same feeling I had when you and I said good-bye. Our little girl has now woken up, and I’ve sat [with her] for quite a while, fed her and keep thinking how happy I am thanks to you and how much good you have inspired in me. I did not sleep very well on this sofa, and in the morning I went upstairs, where I got so bored I couldn’t sleep. Mashen’ka⁶² doesn’t want to move into my room. The fear of a draught everywhere, from both the doors and the windows, has so deeply ingrained itself in her that it seems there’s a draft through my door and her teeth start to hurt. Let [people] do what they like, but it would be more comfortable for her. She doesn’t talk about leaving, thank God. I’m very happy and I’m concerned that she might leave us as she feels uncomfortable [about being a burden]. The children⁶³ spent the whole day enthusiastically looking at pictures, and I’ve been transcribing⁶⁴ all day long; I hope to finish soon, and am using literally every second of time to write at least one word — it’s all coming along nicely. I’ll send it [to you] directly I finish. I wanted to remind you of what you yourself said: Don’t show your novel to anyone — to anyone who might judge you. Remember you’ve been thrown off more than once before, and now it’s very important that no one say anything silly that you might take to heart. If you need anything transcribed, give it to [my] Mama — she’s a terrific scribe, and she will be happy to copy for you. What about Tanja [Tat’jana Andreevna], is she taking care of you? It’s sometimes frightening to think about how far away from us you are and how many unpleasantries you might be having to deal with.

Lëva, I’ve now despatched Jakov [Vasil’evich Tsvetkov], but can you imagine, he didn’t comprehend what I said about the infirmary and headed for [your brother] Serëzha’s. Serëzha told him: “All right, brother, tomorrow you and I shall go together to the infirmary.” I’m very glad about that, and shall tell you what [the doctors] will do to him. Tomorrow they’ll bring him home, I’m sending for him. I want to start my walks again. This constant sitting in the nursery with its stuffiness has deadened me, both emotionally and physically. I’ve been feeling quite sluggish and numb, and I’ve been so craving fresh air that I’m going to start my walks again, despite this frosty, clear, snowless weather. I have to get refreshed and lift my spirits. Otherwise, without you I can feel quite down and my loneliness is more difficult to bear.

Last night and the day you left and we said good-bye — all that now seems to me like a dream. I myself have been in such a dream-like state, feeling tense and unnatural. What a good time we’ve had lately — so happy and friendly — why should we have to experience such misfortune? I feel terribly sad without you and I constantly think: if he’s not here, what’s the meaning of it all? Why do I need to have dinner, why do the stoves need to be stoked and everything be a bother, and the same bright sun, and the same Auntie, and the Zephyrlets, and all? I’ve been spending all day downstairs now, writing like mad, and that helps.

Nº 11 – LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA
[PSS 83/21]
24 November 1864. Moscow.
[TELEGRAM]

Countess Tolstaya

Tula

St-Catherine’s Day ⁶⁵ got in the way. [Everything’s] postponed until tomorrow. I shall still consult with Inozemstev.⁶⁶ My overall health has improved.

Tolstoy.

Nº 12 – SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY
[LSA 6]
25 November [1864], Wednesday. [Yasnaya Polyana] Evening.

I’ve now received both telegrams,⁶⁷ sweet Lëvochka. Yesterday’s telegram was received after Semën had left, — the line was busy, and [Gustav Fëdorovich] Këller, to whom they [first] brought it, sent it over this morning, while the second telegram [our servant] Semën just brought me now. I don’t know whether I should be delighted or devastated. Of course I’m glad you are avoiding tremendous suffering and even danger, but I feel sad, too, that it’s finished; [your] former strength, muscles and freedom of movement — they’re all gone. Sad, too, that since you will be getting callisthenics therapy, you won’t be allowed to return home for a long time, you have to show [mental] stamina, and consistently, and for a long time. Well, now, those are trifles; what’s important is that it is not in vain, but produces results. I’m glad that your overall health has improved — that’s the main thing. How boring it’s been not having any letters from you until now. I feel your spirit wafting over me when I read your letter and this gives me a great deal of comfort and cheer, even the little details. The main thing is that I find out what the doctors have said, as well as how you are viewing all these troubles with your arm. Does all this give you a lot of bother or not? Serëzha [Sergej Nikolaevich] keeps talking about your arm with some disappointment, but everyone’s glad that they will not have to break it. I don’t have to ask you to write me about everything in detail, you yourself will certainly not forget me. And here I was yesterday, foolishly accusing you of not sending me a wire.⁶⁸ Forgive me, Lëvochka, I was so perturbed and depressed. I spent an altogether wretched night. I did so much thinking that my head became all muddled and heavy. Circumstances separated us. We couldn’t help but experience sorrow — we can’t be joyous all the time. And this is real sorrow, serious sorrow, which we also must learn to bear. How are you all doing there? Are you yourself all right? Don’t think about me, do what cheers you up. Go to the club, and to any acquaintances you like; I feel now so calm about everything, so happy for you and confident about you that I’m not afraid of anything in the world. I say this sincerely and it’s pleasant to feel it in my heart. Everything’s going along here as before, without the slightest changes. I’m still sitting downstairs, this is my realm, my children, my activities and my life. When I come upstairs, it seems like I’m a guest [in my own home]. When I come in, Serëzha stands up. When I’m not there, he jokes and fibs, but in my presence all’s formal and tense, even though he’s kind and good to me. I get the feeling I’m a stranger to all of them; it’s funny — a stranger to your kin; that they all love and cherish each other, but look at me condescendingly and benignly, as though I were a foster child in the house. They’re all very kind, and care for me very much, but still something is not as it should be. Without you I’m lost here — such wild thoughts come to me. When you’re around I feel like a queen, without you I’m superfluous. Everyone who likes me is now in the Kremlin, and I’m living constantly with you — my whole life, except for the children, is still there. Auntie [Tat’jana Aleksandrovna Ergol’skaja] is closest to me and the kindest. She never changes — she’s always the same. I’m afraid what I am saying will somewhat displease you, but you, Lëva, are one with me, so it’s simple and natural to tell you everything that’s in my heart. Don’t get me wrong: we are all very friendly with each other here, at least that’s the way it seems to me now. I came to see them in the drawing room, they’re all sitting in a circle, busy, reading, chatting; Serëzha is lying on the sofa, Liza⁶⁹ is sitting at his feet. When I walked in, Serëzha jumped up, we exchanged a few words, — [the conversation was] boring, and I left. I was certainly in their way. — I haven’t finished transcribing everything, just been too busy. I’ll finish tomorrow for certain.

My little girl has been very restless, she’s burning from the smallpox [vaccination]: one lump has appeared on one hand and three on the other. Serëzha, it seems, has not been affected, although the nanny assures me that he will. He is still experiencing rather serious diarrhœa, probably because the vaccination is not taking. This diarrhœa does not alarm me very much. He is quite cheerful, sleeps and eats well, but it purges his [system] up to six times a day and is very obnoxious. I’m not giving him any medicine, only milk and chicken soup, which he has a hard time eating. Overall in the nursery just about everything’s in good order, and whatever is not, God grant that it will [soon] pass. Write and tell me, sweet Lëvochka, when you think you might be coming. It seems such a long time ago that you left. How is Papà’s health? How is the tube?⁷⁰ Pity I don’t have the letters you all wrote. I picked up this large sheet of paper, I wanted to write you a long letter, but my hand is so tired from the copying that I can barely move it. You’ll no doubt be interested in learning about Jakov. He didn’t want to stay in hospital and left. They wanted to cut off his finger, but there was no way he would submit to that. It will be a terrible experience: his whole hand is already swollen and everything’s very painful. We’re constantly enquiring about his [condition], but have no idea what to do. What silly people — simply a fright! Just wait and see: he’ll get St-Anthony’s Fire. There’s no coping with him without you. Maybe it will pass on its own, but that’s unlikely. It’s all very bad. I know nothing about your [Yasnaya Polyana] estate. All they will say is that everything’s well and good. I saw the elder⁷¹ today — he wanted to buy two axes, and he said the cook had a fight with the German. Grigorij the cabinet-maker made some baseboards, tomorrow they’ll buy some felt and paint and, perhaps we’ll apply the linoleum without you, if I don’t meet any obstacles; I really want [to get this done]. — The health of all us adults is good, only Masha had a toothache, but she’s better now. We’re all staying as though bottled up inside [the house], [afraid], God help us, even to open the doors. I’m staying indoors because my winter coat isn’t ready yet — they’ll bring it to me tomorrow, and I’ll start going for walks. — How will your callisthenics therapy proceed? It’s probably passive rather than active callisthenics, as you can not raise your arm. What did they say about your posterior fossa, the protruding bone in front and the lump I could feel? Did you like the doctors? How I’d like to know all in a bit more detail! What about Tanja — is she carrying out my instructions in regard to you, and taking care of you pretty well? Since [the doctors] decided not to break your arm and you’re in the same situation, you’re probably out and about; write me the details, as in a diary — where you go, whom you see, etc., etc. Farewell, sweet friend; be healthy, calm, cheerful. I am in a hurry to finish, as my [daughter] Tanja has been tossing and turning. Now, it seems, she’s dropped off again.

What you’ve given me to copy, how good it all is! I do like everything [you’ve written about] Princess Mar’ja! One can just picture her. And such a glorious, likeable character. I’ll still be your critic. — Prince Andrej,⁷² I would say, is still not clear. It’s hard to tell what kind of a person he is. If he’s smart, how is it that he can’t understand and explain to himself his relations with his wife? The old prince is very good, too. But the first one — the one you weren’t happy with — I like better. On the basis of him I pictured to myself an ideal, which doesn’t fit the present prince. The scene of Prince Andrej’s departure is very good, and with the image of Princess Mar’ja — excellent. It was a real pleasure for me to transcribe this. Are you writing while in Moscow? Have you been to see Katkov?⁷³ As regards money matters I advise you not to accept print copies in lieu of payment. Russkij vestnik readers do not buy books, and that’s the majority of moneyed people who subscribe to the journal. Better to wait, perhaps you’ll print it yourself.

This isn’t my business, I know — it just popped into my head.

Lëvochka, my dearest friend, when shall I see you? Do you still take delight in thinking about our life at Yasnaya — you haven’t been liking it in Moscow? I think not. Without you, Yasnaya itself no longer appeals to me. I don’t feel like going anywhere outside the nursery, I don’t feel like doing anything. Only don’t think I’ve let myself go. I’m still very active and cheerful. But now I really must say good-bye. Big hugs and kisses. The next time I write I’ll send you the manuscript. That should be this Saturday. God grant you all good! Take care of yourself, for God’s sake. Remember us with the children.

Yours, Sonja.

Nº 13 – LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA
[PSS 83/24]
25 November 1864. Moscow.

This morning I sent [you] a third telegram ⁷⁴ saying there won’t be any operation. This is what has transpired.

I stayed home this morning waiting for Rudinskij.⁷⁵ Before he came, Vendrikh⁷⁶ happened to drop by. They showed him [my arm], and he said it didn’t need straightening, though he admitted that the arm was not in place, and described three attempts at straightening old dislocations, all of which turned out unsuccessfully. I didn’t believe him and waited for Rudinskij, whose word I was pretty much ready to accept and act on, no matter what it might be. — Earlier I had asked Andrej Evstaf’evich [Behrs] not to speak with him before I do but leave me to explain it all by myself. He made a careful observation and decided that there was no need to break [my arm], that there was a fracture (as Popov⁷⁷ admitted, too), and that some kind of ligament that had got twisted under the bone might prevent a complete straightening, and, besides, any empty space not occupied by the bones of the arm were already probably filled with cartilage (this Popov corroborated, too), and so there was no use trying. He said that the arm was off by very, very little, and that [eventually] I would be able to control it much better than I can right now. The reason I’m not able to control it now is mainly that all my muscles have become weak through inaction, and that the injury caused a stretching of the muscles and a paralytic condition, which might pass all by itself, or through the use of iodine or ointment, which would bring about an external inflammation. That I shall do tomorrow. My main hope is on the callisthenics therapy. Foss⁷⁸ assured [me] yesterday that he has known such cases to be healed completely, over the course of about six months. He said that should be done by him alone, consequently in Moscow, which I, of course, would not agree to, but I’m thinking of proceeding this way: starting tomorrow, I shall invite him to visit me every day for exercises, which I shall continue for a week or ten days. Aleksej [Stepanovich Orekhov] will be present and observe; and if I notice an improvement, I shall carry on doing the same thing on his instructions. Unfortunately, today he was to come and see Andrej Evstaf’evich but for some reason didn’t make it, so I still haven’t had a chance to discuss everything with him. Anyway, whatever will be will be. I shall not be very upset if the arm even stays in its present position with no pain, and if I knew that you were looking at it in the same way, I would be completely calm. Still no letter from you. — This morning I was happy do some writing again. Later the younger Obolenskij ⁷⁹ arrived — it seems he is desirous to faire la cour to Liza,⁸⁰ and Sukhotin⁸¹ also came — he has become considerably thinner and looks like an old valet de chambre. Both of them were quite boring, later Anke⁸² was even more so, sitting through the whole dinner and the entire evening. Andrej Evstaf’evich is also difficult with his ceaseless, tormenting fuss about his health, which would actually be a lot better if only he paid less attention to it and restrained himself more. In the evening we all went again to the Maly Theatre (except for Tanja) to see a new farce, but it was quite a fine [evening] on the whole, only not for me. I’m quite bored here, apart from my work and Tanja’s singing. She’s not good. She constantly weeps and won’t say anything, almost the way she did immediately after her [time with Sergej]. We received a very good letter from Sasha,⁸³ he just dreams about taking a trip to Yasnaya Polyana. Up until now I was pre-occupied with my arm. Now that that’s resolved, tomorrow I’ll get an answer from Katkov and start publishing either with him or in a separate book. I’ve picked up a lot of materials here. How are things going with you? What about the nursery? Farewell, sweet friend. Tomorrow I may add something further, but right now it’s 11 o’clock and I’m very tired; since dinner I’ve been doing callisthenics with my arm. —

Nº 14 – SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY
[LSA 7]
26 November [1864], Late evening. [Yasnaya Polyana]

Here, Lëvochka, dear friend, I am sending you my transcription and I beg forgiveness for being lazy and not doing very much copying. Now I’m sorry that I’ve finished; I found it so entertaining, all the more so since you said to me on the day of your departure: “You are my assistant.” I would be happy to copy from morning ’til night and to assist you. I wrote a letter in care of Serëzha [Sergej Nikolaevich] to Papà, saying that the smallpox didn’t take on [our] son Serëzha, but I just had a look now, and it seems it has taken on his healthy hand, probably on his sick hand, too, it seems. Ivan [Alekseevich] has just arrived from Tula and brought no letters from you. I found that rather upsetting. Write to me, dove — this would really comfort me. Tomorrow, Lëvochka, we shall cut out the linoleum and measure everything and make [any necessary] adjustments. We bought some felt today — 6 silver roubles it cost, very expensive, as well as paints for the baseboards. A request from the cabinet-maker.

How is your arm, my dear, sweet Lëva? Is it getting better? Have you been benefited at all by your Moscow trip? Oh Lord, how I’d like to see you, talk with you, sit with you. What are you doing in Moscow? Where do you go? Whom do you see? It’s terrible: for so many days I learn about you only in a few words, with no details, and no letters to date. Lëvochka, in any case I’m writing to you on the reverse side a list of what we need from Moscow.⁸⁴ If you can ask Tanja and Mamà to buy these. — As to myself there is nothing worth telling you; you know me, you know how much I love you and that I’m lonely without you.

Nº 15 – LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA
[PSS 83/25]
27 November 1864. Moscow.

Yesterday for the first time I missed writing you in the evening of the same day, and now I’m writing in the morning while everyone’s still asleep, so as to get to the post office before 9. Please send [the coachman] Kondratij or Serëzhka [Sergej Petrovich Arbuzov] every day. I wasn’t able to write you yesterday as I got carried away reading [Mikhail Zagoskin’s novel] Roslavlev. You see, he is so helpful and interesting to me. Yesterday I didn’t go anywhere, waiting for the callisthenics specialist Foss. I tried to write, but there was nowhere I could — too much interference — besides, I wasn’t in the mood, it seems. It is not cheerful here — the Kremlin is definitely not a cheerful place. Andrej Evstaf’evich talks of nothing but the disease he finds in his intestines. Liza sits quietly and goes about her own affairs, while Tanja cries for days on end, as she did yesterday morning. About what? You can’t tell whether it’s all about the same thing, or simply about being bored. It’s true. Two or three years ago the whole world was yours and hers, with various infatuations and gay ribbons, and with all the poetry and silliness of youth. Now, all of a sudden, after seeing and admiring our world and after all the disappointments — i.e. feelings — she’s experienced, she no longer finds, upon returning home, that world which she had with you. What remains is the virtuous but boring Liza, and here she’s been placed face to face — i.e. so close — to her parents, who have become difficult to live with because of [her father’s] illness. Anyway, she has got involved in skating, she’s made a hat of merlushka lambskin, she’s gone to concerts, but all that’s not very much for her.

Yesterday, despite all that, she burst into tears when she apparently heard through Aleksej ⁸⁵ that Serëzha was marrying Masha.⁸⁶ I had a talk with her, but it’s both sad and disheartening to talk with her. Then Ljubimov⁸⁷ arrived from Katkov’s. He heads up Russkij vestnik. You should have heard how he bargained with me continuously over two hours (I think) for 50 roubles per printer’s sheet, all the while smiling professorially and foaming at the mouth. I held my ground and am now waiting for a reply. — They very much want, and will probably settle for 300, while I, I must confess, am afraid to publish it myself — including the bother with the printers’ and especially with the censors. After him I went over to see Foss. As misfortune would have it, when I wanted to start, he wasn’t there for two days in a row. At dinner the doorbell rang — just newspapers. When it rang a second time, Tanja ran down again — it was your letter. They all asked me to read it, but I was loath to share it [at the moment]. It’s too good, [I thought,] and they won’t understand, and didn’t understand. It’s had an effect on me like a piece of good music — joyful, sad and pleasant all at the same time. I felt like crying. How clever you are to say that I should never give anyone my novel to read;⁸⁸ even if wasn’t clever, I would have obeyed because you wished it. — There have been no confrontations between your parents over the corned beef, etc., and after dinner Tanja brightened up (youth claims its own), and it was so pleasant. I got ready to go to the bath-house with Petja and Volodja⁸⁹ while Tanja and Mamà went to Kuznetskij Most [Street]. After bathing I was given Roslavlev, and while listening at tea-time, and conversing, and listening to Tanja’s singing, kept reading with a delight which no one save the author could understand. Andrej Evstaf’evich has boiled some cocoa and is relentlessly urging me to have a drink. Farewell. My arm hurts, but I am hopeful. I rubbed it with iodine, and now I will make every effort to track down Foss. Farewell, my sweet; write and check with Tula every day.

Anyway, think about it and explain. The other day Sasha Kupfershmidt ⁹⁰ was here, and we talked around two hours about hunting. And yesterday I went down to see the nanny and speak with her about the children and various cases; and, believe me, these two conversations were more entertaining than any I have had [to date] during my whole stay in Moscow, including Ljubimov, Sukhotin and Tjutcheva.⁹¹ The more I meet with people now, having grown up, [the more] I’m convinced that I’m quite a unique individual, and am different only in that I no longer have my former vainglory and tomfoolery which a person rarely gets rid of.

Nº 16 – LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA
[PSS 83/28]
1 December 1864. Moscow.

From Lëvochka. —

My health is very good, but my main concern, my arm, is still doubtful. The doctor was just here. He bound it for the third time after the operation, and won’t permit me to make the slightest movement. He promises that I shall be able to use my arm again, but admits that, though the bone is in a much better position than before, not everything is yet in its right place. My conscience is clear; I’ve tried everything I could, and I’m sick and tired of either talking or thinking about it. Now about my life: Tanja wrote to you about yesterday — as to why I didn’t write myself, I have no idea. I guess I was tired, and despite its solemnity,⁹² the whole day was difficult and tedious for everyone. [It didn’t matter] who showed up, or who you talked to. D’jakova,⁹³ Varin’ka Perfil’eva⁹⁴ and Sasha (Aleksandr Mikhajlovich) Kupfershmidt are all good people and extend their sympathy, but — God alone knows why — it was not only tedious, but difficult, as if sitting with them were some sort of punishment. As it’s proved true in our experience that we don’t need a house, but a simple nursery is enough, so in my adult life I see that we don’t need anybody beyond five or six people that are the closest to us. I always used to feel embarrassed and ashamed when you and I spoke of Ljubov’ Aleksandrovna (Behrs) — everything about her is good, but you felt I couldn’t hide [the fact] that my heart was not terribly inclined towards her. This time, and last evening in particular, when everyone had left, we had a really good conversation, and I found myself loving her very much. We didn’t talk about anything out of the ordinary, [just] about [the days of] her youth, the story of the Shidlovskijs,⁹⁵ about you all and about her marital relations, and her eyes were especially sparkling, and it all turned out really fine. I’ve tended to judge her too harshly as you and I are exceedingly spoilt by being surrounded by exceedingly good people. In fact, she is very, very good, sweet, and, most importantly, a smart woman, which I didn’t recognise before.

More fun than anything else yesterday — more fun than Armfel’d,⁹⁶ the blancmange and Nikolaj Bogdanovich [Anke]’s pies, was our getting together with Tanja and Petja [Pëtr Andreevich Behrs] in the annexe and all repeating in chorus: “Sa-a-sh Kup-fer-shmidt” (!!!!staccato!!!!), in an unnatural voice. In any case, Sasha Kupfershmidt, Pëtr Gavrilovich,⁹⁷ the nanny and a lot of other things I found particularly surprising and pleasant, as they reminded me of you as a little girl, as well as when we were engaged to be married, and that is a good feeling I am experiencing for a second time, staying here in the Kremlin without you. I’m just teasing. How are things with you? After your large envelope⁹⁸ I haven’t received anything, and sometimes it gets very lonely without you, especially since nothing’s been coming to me to write these past two days. I was telling Tanja yesterday why it’s been easier to endure the separation than it would have been if I didn’t have anything to write. Along with you and the children (though I still feel my love for them is not very strong) I have a constant love and care for my writing. If I didn’t have that, I feel I could definitely not last a day without you, and you understand correctly: writing is to me what the children are no doubt to you. Tanja keeps putting her finger to her eye, and is sometimes strange, sometimes unhealthfully cheerful, at other times she will suddenly give a nervous and joyful cry, like yesterday, when Klavdija⁹⁹ told about our [midwife] Marija Ivanovna,¹⁰⁰ and a 16-year-old priest’s daughter she’d brought into their clinic who gave birth, and all at once Tanja burst into tears. Liza amazes me with her constant activity and sense of duty: she’s either studying English, or translating, or working with the children, or looking after me or Papà, but it’s all awkward and not terribly appealing. Andrej Evstaf’evich continually complains about his disease, he mopes about, and his family judges him too harshly. He worries about his health, but the situation with this tube [in his throat] is not very pretty; at least lately Ljubov’ Aleksandrovna has been very good with him. I am always flattered by praise, and your praise of the character of Princess Mar’ja¹⁰¹ really gratified me, but now I’ve been reading over everything you sent, and it all seems rather ugly, and I miss not having a [working] arm. I wanted to do some correcting, crossing out some things out, but I couldn’t. I now feel quite discouraged over my talent, especially since yesterday I dictated to Liza some frightful nonsense. I know it’s only a temporary mood, which will pass, possibly because my nerves are still weak from the chloroform and generally reduced to an abnormal state by the tight binding across my chest. Anyway, don’t think that I am unhealthy; I am eating and sleeping well, and tomorrow I shall definitely go out for a walk or a drive to breathe some pure air. Oh yes, I haven’t yet described what has been happening today — really, there is nothing to say — literally nothing. I have been reading Gogol’s confession¹⁰² (which I had long ago forgotten) along with some French mémoires, and I’ve been playing with Slavochka¹⁰³ — he’s really such a dear. He keeps asking me to tell him a “tory” (story), and I tell him about the boy who ate seven cucumbers, etc. And he repeats: Mama, there… there was one boy, he ate seven cucumbers, ha-ha-ha! Their supposed Frenchman I really don’t like at all; he quite belongs to the same ilk as Labourdette,¹⁰⁴ but what to do? He is needed, I agree, for poor Ljubov’ Aleksandrovna, who is now faced with raising four boys without help from her husband, right at a time when help is most needed. Poor Stëpa¹⁰⁵ feels utterly downtrodden — even this Labourdette hits him from time to time — but he doesn’t give up.

Whenever Stëpa enters a room and sees a visitor, an unfamiliar face (as he did yesterday with Sukhotin and D’jakova), he conscientiously bows, so that the visitor feels obliged to respond to the gesture with a particularly pleasant smile and thinks that this is it, but immediately Stëpa becomes even more sensitively and persistently obsequious, as though expecting something else. The visitor smiles again, Stëpa makes another bow, so that everyone in the room feels embarrassed. Yesterday he drove Sukhotin to the point of tender kissing.

Well, farewell, my precious friend. It is frightening to write nonsense; perhaps you don’t have time [to read] it: I hope your concerns over me have already dissipated.

Hugs and kisses to all. You forgot to include tea in your list — I shall buy some; Mamà will buy the rest. I managed to pick up some Brahmapootra chickens and shall bring them with me. Whatever money I make from my novel I shall hand over to the Behrs family. As for Jakov [Tsvetkov], he was such a fool to run away from the hospital; do keep an eye on him. What’s happening with the farm animals? Have there been any casualties? Is Anna Petrovna¹⁰⁶ still out of sorts? Or has she been spending too much time with her daughter’s¹⁰⁷ wedding? Encourage her to give a good watering and feeding to the calves and pigs, and, most importantly, tell the elder to make sure the cattle are doing fine, otherwise two weeks could spoil everything that was done over [the past] year. Farewell, my dove, go for a walk with the Zephyrlets, take a look at the rabbit tracks, and check [for mail] at Tula every day and write to me.

Nº 17 – LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA
[PSS 83/29]
2 December 1864. Moscow. [Preceded by SAT’s Unpublished Letter Nº 1U, 1 December 1864]

My dear Sonja, I just received your distressing letter¹⁰⁸ this evening and cannot write or think of anything else but what is happening with you all. I dreamt about you last night and am so afraid for each of you. The main thing is not to give into weakness or despair, keep [Serëzha’s] tummy warm, don’t give him any medicine, but summon the doctor, summon him without fail, not to give him medicine but to offer you hope and so for you to listen to his comfortings; I know how necessary that is. Send for him without fail, but it may already be too late: four days have gone by already. I shall come soon, I can’t live without you, but I shan’t leave until I see the end of the diarrhœa which is tormenting me. The smallpox vaccination is nothing [to worry about], that’s what our whole family has said. When I think about what might happen, it’s horrible, so I try not to think about it. One thing that comforts me is that, judging by the whole tone of your letter, you’re not quite feeling yourself, and I comfort myself with the thought that you are exaggerating this to yourself and hence inadvertently to me. If only I were certain that with even the worst-case scenario I would be sent a telegram, then I could feel calm, but right now — I can’t. I know that they will say: Why hasten to send a report of misfortune? — people always find out about it too early. Give me your solemn, faithful word in advance to keep me informed, whatever happens, otherwise I can’t live, can’t live. I’m not to blame if you don’t receive my letters; right from the start since I got here, I have only missed one day — before the operation. This morning I dictated a little to Tanja, read some books for [my] novel and looked through archival papers,¹⁰⁹ which they bring home as a favour arranged [for me] by Sukhotin. But despite the wealth of materials here, or, specifically because of this wealth, I feel that I am in a daze and nothing is getting written. I have been forcing myself to do some dictating, but Tanya has gone off skating. I got ready to go, too, or drive over to see them, for which I asked the doctor’s permission yesterday, but the bandaging and overcoat proved so heavy that I turned back, getting only as far as Mokhovaja Street.¹¹⁰ While I was gone, Popov came, but I don’t regret [missing him]; I really don’t need him and he can’t do anything right now. I only need the bandaging which his assistant Gaak¹¹¹ makes up. I sent him 30 roubles and hope that he won’t come over again. By dinner time Obolenskij¹¹² showed up, and I still can’t figure out whom he’s ardently in love with; only there’s something there, and he’s a very dear boy, delicate and modest, and that in itself is a major quality. In the evening I read and grieved over your letter; rode around to the shops with Tanja and Petja — it was a beautiful moonlit night. I wonder what you were doing at the time. If [you] were all in good health, you’d be out for a drive, [too]. Upon our return home, we met Grandfather;¹¹³ he looks the same, but I was sad to see that all the respect which I had for him earlier is now completely gone. He brought along a photo showing Kostin’ka¹¹⁴ with his moustache, and I was dying to see it, but it’s still in an unpacked suitcase. Now the thought has come to me with such clarity and horror: What if a tragedy occurred — and here I went and wrote you this humorous letter yesterday. It is pleasant for me every evening to be with you by dictating a letter, along with a heavy feeling as if in a dream, that someone wants to grasp something and can’t.

Farewell, my sweet darling dove. I can’t dictate everything. I love you so greatly all this time with all the love [I can muster]. My precious friend! And the more I love, the more afraid I am. — Please give me your word that you will telegraph me about anything [important]. As soon as my arm is unbound — that will be in about five days — I shall see if it’s got any better, in which case I shan’t stay on here any longer. All this time I shall be doing exercises and getting accustomed to taking drives again; quiet rides in the carriage can’t do any harm. Our whole family are very precious and in good health. Andrej Evstaf’evich’s health, despite his complaining, has got better since I’ve been here. Hugs and kisses to all; I’ll be sending a reply tomorrow to the dear Zephyrlets. Please write again, dear Zephyrlets.

Nº 18 –LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA
[PSS 83/31]
4 December 1864. Moscow.

My dear Sonja, I was just now at Aksakov’s,¹¹⁵ who, you will remember, caused you so many tears and me such repentance.¹¹⁶ How I remember the feeling I had when I was riding up to the house and you rushed forth to meet me. The only joy I feel here is what reminds me of you. And today again Aksakov vividly reminded me of the time when you were sitting with Nil Popov¹¹⁷ on the steps at Pokrovskoe, and I, feigning indifference, was terribly jealous over you, and loved you, only quite differently from the way I do now. Yesterday at the theatre I was explaining this to your dear Anetochka;¹¹⁸ when she was coming out of our loge, I told her: “I see you’re feeling fine”, — and in the corridor, never mind the ushers and other people about, she deftly turned to me and replied: “How delightful!” Such a dear thing! I encouraged her not to be afraid that her happiness might fade, or that they will love each other less and less [as time goes on]; [I said] that you love more and more, only in a different way; this indicates the wisdom of the world; but it would be tiresome to always love someone in exactly the same way.

And so Aksakov reminded me — when I had come for information about Austria¹¹⁹ — he told me it would best of all to contact Nil Popov, who had just returned from there. I shall definitely try to go see him.

I have received letters from you for two days in a row, and so am cheerful and at peace. How clever you are to go for walks, and with the dear Zephyrlet Liza!¹²⁰ How happy I would be [to be] with you, it seems, but if I came, I suppose we might quarrel over some minor trifle. But now for sure we shan’t.

I have some not-so-good news to tell you about my arm. Yesterday Popov and Gaak deliberately came by together, took off the bandaging and, even though they assure me that the bone has moved a little, it seems that there has been little benefit from the operation per se. They proposed trying once again, repeating anew that there is one chance in 100. And I was really in a state of uncertainty, but I thought of consulting with Inozemtsev¹²¹ and Nechaev,¹²² son of the celebrated bone-setter they were telling me about. This morning I went to see Inozemtsev. At first he said there was no dislocation at all, but that I had an internal disease which he discovered when he examined my tongue through a magnifying glass; then he suggested that I wear a surgical patch, and later said it was worth another attempt at straightening [the arm]. He’s completely barmy. Back home I found Vendrikh, who said there was no way I should wear a patch. So judge for yourself. At 2 o’clock Nechaev came by and said that it was absolutely impossible to straighten it, and suggested a steam-bath, ointment and a small patch under my arm, assuring me that this could almost make it straight; in any case he promised that I would be able to use my arm almost fully. Since his remedies were completely harmless, I decided to give them a try, and now I’m on my way to take a bath. My cherished hope is that I shall once again be able to pick you up with my right arm or use my right hand to punch anyone who offends you.

Now there is still some swelling and feebleness from the break. I can’t lift my arm at all, and any pushing causes pain; also, I have not received back from Katkov either the manuscripts or the money and so I am thinking of staying [here] until the end of next week. As for writing, I haven’t written anything this whole time — rather, the writing’s not coming, or there’s simply no time, but I have been getting a lot of things ready for myself and shall continue to do so. Farewell, my sweet friend. How I love you — hugs and kisses. — Everything’s going to be fine, and we have no misfortunes, if you love me the way I love you.

Poor, sweet Tanja is still sorrowing and crying. You’re quite right: she and Ljubov’ Aleksandrovna are the best of them all, and I love them both very much. —

Nº 19 – SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY
[LSA 10]
5 December [1864]. Morning. [Yasnaya Polyana]

I’ve just got home, after spending the whole morning running household errands. Here’s a detailed account. First of all I went to see the sheep. Everything’s quite fine there, every one in place: the young, the old, the rams, the wethers,¹²³ all in special enclosures. Only among the young ones I discovered two older sheep; the German chap¹²⁴ said they were in poor health, and he wanted to try to make them better. They had feed, very clean. I saw your Rambouillet ram; he’s amazingly good, well-fed, and his wool is superb. I told the German to take special care, and he assured me he would take special care, and I really think [he’s doing] well. The little English pigs he has are very good and well-fed, and I even felt them with my hands. — Next I went to see Anna Petrovna.¹²⁵ Very bad here. The calves, especially the three bull-calves, are so thin that all their ribs are showing. The young bulls, who should have been fed only milk, are trying to eat the hay which is scattered about and being trampled under foot. I gave [Anna Petrovna] a strong reprimand; she was befuddled and wasn’t even talking properly. I told her to tie up the milk-feeding bull-calves so that they would stay away from the hay, and to do a better job of nursing, and to put the hay in order. But I think the bull-calves are already ruined and their meat will not be so good and white. Then I headed over to the pigs. It seems to me the pigs are very well-fed and fat, but, again, I saw no feed there. Anna Petrovna kept assuring me that she had already fed them, and that there needn’t be feed there every moment. The bull-calf bought from the Kopylovs is also bad. While I was there she gave him a little oats, but the hay was scattered about the whole pen, and he was trampling it with his feet. I gave her a reprimand for that, too. The Pashkovs’ calf is very good and well-fed. What a beauty — a charmer! I saw the sick cow, she’s already eating well and getting better. There are no other sick ones, they’re all healthy. For four days now the cows have had no lees, as the [wine] factory¹²⁶ is out of operation and Anna Petrovna assures me that on account of that they lost weight. In fact, they watered the cows while I was there; but no sooner do they pour out the water than it freezes. The cowshed is clean, there’s only oat-straw there, I said they should rake it up — the hay that was brought in was lying about by the gates in a disorderly fashion. I didn’t go see the horses, since Kondratij had gone to fetch water, and I don’t have any understanding myself. I really liked the Kopylov’s [female] calf, such a sweet charmer! Well, next I went to see my bird pens. That doesn’t interest you: I’ll say only that two of my hens have been laying for more than a week now, come and taste some fresh eggs. These days I feel like a real lady of the house, and am no longer intimidated by or give into the rantings of the various Anna Petrovnas. I forgot to mention that Anna Petrovna claimed that the calves were thin because they had diarrhœa. But she’s to blame for that. How would they get diarrhœa if they’re in a warm shed and are fed with warm milk? Anna Petrovna further said that the cows aren’t drinking water because of the bad smell from the pond. I don’t know if that’s correct or not, but I told them to take the water from the Voronka [brook]. If that’s not right, it won’t be for long, God grant the factory will be back in business. When you read all this chit-chat about the estate, you’ll probably laugh at me, you’ll say: “Look at how competent she’s making herself out to be!” I realise that I’ve been giving myself a few airs, but still I’ve started to understand a few things, thanks to my walks with you around the stables, pens, cattle yards, etc. Now, as far as the estate goes, that’s it.

Evening. Serëzha’s still sick and weak. His diarrhœa continues and often drives me to despair. He is constantly having liquid bowel movements. It’s so fluid and awful. He’s grown terribly thin, all his ribs are showing. I keep putting up with it, patiently, and don’t know when it will end. I feel saddened that you don’t have much love for the children; they are so dear and precious to me. But if that’s the way you feel, I shan’t keep telling you about them — how they are doing and what’s new [with them]. Only it’s a pity that Serëzha won’t be up and walking by the time you get here. What a time it’s been for me without you! But a really sad time. And you, now, dear Lëva, what a world you live in! We’ve changed places: I’m in yours, and you’re in mine. And as for who Sonichka Behrs was in the Kremlin — that is now nothing but a legend, and there isn’t even a trace of her. I wish I could now reach my ideal of the perfect housewife, especially being active and capable of doing everything, not to mention taking care of children who appeared all on their own without any effort. My daughter has been, up to now, quite as I had imagined. Exactly the kind of child I wished for: healthy, strong, calm — my offspring. I don’t have any problems with her. At this present moment Serëzha is playing around me on the floor, and keeps lying down with his face to the linoleum. It chills the scrofula on his cheeks, and he keeps moving from place to place to find a cool spot. At first, Lëvochka, I kept thinking that all of a sudden you would walk in, but now I’ve quite lost heart. I’m no longer anticipating your arrival, but there is a constant aching feeling in my soul. Another time, possibly, I shall no longer agree to part from you, my precious friend. I torment myself to the extreme, and what for? Lately I’ve been sitting upstairs with [Tolstoy’s sister] Mashen’ka and the children. We’ve had some pretty sad conversations. Liza is still ill, and she’s been experiencing some dizziness. Mashen’ka’s very concerned. She’s not even accustomed to living in Russia, let alone the countryside. What’s more, to tell the truth, if we lived in the city, your arm would have been already completely healthy, and no matter how you figure it, it’s very sad that you still have this deformity. You keep saying: “It’s mostly for you that I want my arm to be straightened.” Why for me? I shan’t love you any less for it — on the contrary, [I shall love you] more. Lëvochka: the gardener’s just stopped by and asked me to write you to buy some seeds:

Large pineapple melon.

Large Black Sea melon.

Bukhara melon.

¼ funt of semi-Dutch cucumbers.

Thank you for the Brahmapootras, I’m so happy to have them. I’m just afraid my old woman will let them die of neglect. I think I’ll bring them into the kitchen. They’ll start laying eggs sooner there and be better fed. Serëzha is always crawling on the floor — he has a lot of room to play — and my heart is glad. Only one [concern] — they didn’t stretch the linoleum very smoothly, there are wrinkles in places. There’s just one piece that’s still intact. It’s worth 5 roubles. What to do with it? It might be useful at some point. — This evening, can you imagine, I hear singing! It’s Natal’ja Petrovna,¹²⁷ Mashen’ka, and the children, who over tea started to sing Mar’ja Gerasimovna’s¹²⁸ hymn “svoim dukhom uteshajus’…” [“I am comforted by my spirit…”] etc. Too bad I couldn’t be with them, I was putting my little girl to bed, and now here I am writing to you, my sweet. That is a pleasure for me. It’s eight o’clock already, but they still haven’t returned from Tula and so no letter yet.

Just now they brought me your letter, my precious Lëva. It’s a real treat for me to read what you’ve scribbled with your sick arm. “With all the loves” — but I for one do not know which of my loves I love you with. Anyway, I’m always reticent to talk about them, since you once said: “Why talk? People don’t talk about that.” You’ve become very alarmed about Serëzha; I regret now [telling you,] although I did not exaggerate. I didn’t send for the doctor, and still shan’t as long as it doesn’t get much worse. But now, in any case, he’s a little better — he crawls, plays and eats. Of course I would wire you [if anything should happen] — do you think I would leave you in the dark? Don’t hurry, my dear friend, we’ll be seeing each other; above all, take good care of your arm; you will be sorry later [if you don’t]. — Why can’t you write [anything]? Such a pity! It’s all that wretched chloroform. And the last time it affected the nerves, remember, and you too were discouraged about yourself and were sometimes gloomy and doubted yourself. Don’t give in to your nerves, my sweet Lëvochka, they [only] trick you. Your talent is not something for you to judge and it could not suddenly disappear, but the chloroform has ruined everything. Wait a little, and it will all come back. And if you cannot write, we’ll go look at the pigs, the sheep, the cows and the Brahmapootras which you’ll bring with you; we’ll go for a walk in the fresh snow and enjoy Nature; we’ll do some reading aloud and have fun with the children. Now everything will seem new once again. You had a good time in Moscow. I haven’t felt dejected so far, on the contrary, I’m surprised myself at how cheery I’ve been. I have to admit that, while Serëzha is no less dear and precious to me, it means a lot to me that I have a second child — that gives me considerable support. At the moment Nanny is holding her in her arms; she’s laughing and waving her tiny hands. Lëvochka, dear, I’ll be seeing you some time, my friend. We’ll have quite a different life then. As for the arm, the arm — it’s simply a tragedy. As for the young Obolenskij, it would be better for him to go after Tanja — she’s more of a match for him; Liza’s too serious, besides, she’s older than he. Have him come over to see us, if [you find] him a nice person. I am very grateful to Tanja for writing me on your behalf. Give her a heartfelt kiss from me. Lëva, right now I’m busy all day long distributing vouchers for wine to the staff and day-workers. Tomorrow’s a holiday, and I shall go look around the estate once again. And the money I give out — I borrowed 100 silver roubles from Masha, but there’s no place I can get any more. I give it to them because I can’t turn them down, and I feel it doesn’t make much difference whether I’m in debt to Masha or the workers. — Well, Lëvochka, my dove, farewell. I’ve been writing this letter to you the whole day. Still, it’s nice and long. I’m enclosing Serëzhka’s ¹²⁹ letter to Aleksej. I laughed so hard when he brought it to me with his smile and asked me to forward it. He’s coping very well, and we don’t notice Aleksej’s absence too much. Farewell; I could go on writing and writing. And it’s bedtime; I still have to feed our little daughter. I sleep in the middle of the room on the floor, and that suits me just fine. Hugs and kisses to you, my sweet, and I love you possibly more than you can love me. I have been reading over your letters twenty times; thank you for writing every day. Now Serëzha [Sergej Nikolaevich] has come; I shan’t see him, as I’m [already] undressed and need to feed [Tanja].

Nº 20 – LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA
7 December 1864. Moscow.

Yesterday I received your good letter,¹³⁰ dear friend. It’s already the fourth day [in a row] that the postman’s rung regularly, right at dinner time, and brought me your letters.

Remember, darling, I’m counting on your informing me right away if Serëzha takes a turn for the worse. He must have catarrh of the stomach. The remedy is hygiene, warmth and easily digestible food — milk, soup, and Andrej Evstaf’evich strongly recommends calves’ legs and sago.¹³¹ I’ll bring you some sago. Yesterday I wrote you about my plans, my arm and my melancholy here. The same is exactly true today. Sunday I’m planning to be with you; I’m asking Aleksej to exercise my arm twice a day and I’m wearing a bandage which gives me considerable relief. I can’t take care of any business [at the moment]. — Yesterday I was reading an English novel by the author of Aurora Floyd.¹³² I bought ten volumes of these English novels which I haven’t yet read, and very much look forward to reading them with you. You and Liza, after all, could be studying English. Then [I had] another [visit from] the repulsive Aleksandr Mikhajlovich [Kupfershmidt], as well as from Katerina Egorovna¹³³ and Liza. I couldn’t even read — there was no corner [I could retreat to]. I just went for a walk before dinner, and couldn’t visit the libraries or the shops, because it was Sunday. After dinner again [I read] [the romance novel] Pogubil ja svoju molodost’ [I ruined my youth],¹³⁴ and at 7 o’clock [I went to see] A Life for the Tsar [Zhizn’ za Tsarja].¹³⁵ It was very good, but monotonous. In the theatre was just a Sunday audience, and so half the interest for me as an observer wasn’t there. Still, back home again, we were alone: Ljubov’ Aleksandrovna, who is very, very precious and good, Liza, Tanja and Petja, and somehow we managed to have a lot of fun. We reminisced, discussed things. Tanja declared that all she wanted was to live high, high up in a tower with a guitar. Ljubov’ Aleksandrovna pointed out that one would need to eat and go to the loo in the tower, whereupon Tanja, nervously but still cheerfully — like the time [she was told] about the priest’s daughter — burst into tears, and we all left to go to bed. Besides, Petja was sleeping, or at least pretending, and I recounted how I ought, despite my wife’s jealous nature, to confess to my unfortunate incident with Annochka ¹³⁶ in order to clear my conscience. As I was taking off my dress-coat, I happened to wave my arm just as she was walking past, and my hand landed right on her breast. I can see you making your usual squeamish face [as you read this]… Oh, Sonja, will these five days ever pass? To clear my conscience I want to show my steam-treated arm to Nechaev. From Katkov and Ljubimov I have received no answer or manuscript, and that bothers me. Nevertheless, I really don’t feel like going over to see Katkov. In the archives [of the Palace intelligence service] there is nothing useful for me. And now I shall pay a visit to the Chertkov and Rumjantsev Libraries.¹³⁷ I feel extremely wretched and bored, especially these past two days. You say I should get out for a drive. I don’t feel like going anywhere. [I just have] one thought: how to keep from forgetting to do what is necessary. But, choosing between two indulgences — contriving to talk about intelligent [ideas] or affectations, or shuffling around the rooms in the Kremlin without purpose, the latter alternative looks better and better, especially when Aleksandr Mikhajlovich is away — he, and I’ll tell you [in person] why, has become so repulsive to me that I can no longer look on him indifferently, and lately I’ve been deliberately so cold to him that he will no longer come and see us [at Yasnaya Polyana]. He left yesterday at 5 o’clock. All the blacks¹³⁸ in your family are dear and nice to me. Ljubov’ Aleksandrovna is terribly much like you. A few days ago she made a lampshade — when you get right down to work, you can’t be torn away. You even have similar negative traits in common. I sometimes hear her starting to speak with confidence about something she has no knowledge of, and make positive statements and exaggerate, and I recognise you. But you are good to me in every sort of way. I am writing in a study, and in front of me are your portraits at four different ages. My dove, Sonja. What a smart girl you are in anything you put your mind to!.. That’s why I say, too, that you have an indifference to intellectual interests, and not only a lack of limitation, but a mind, and a great mind at that. And that’s something shared by all of you, my especially dear black bears. There are black Behrs — Ljubov’ Aleksandrovna, you, Tanja; and white [Behrs] — the rest of you. In the black [Behrs] the mind is dormant — they are capable, but unwilling, and hence comes their confidence (not always à propos) and tact. But their mind is dormant because they love with great strength, and also because the foremother of the black bers was undeveloped, i.e. Ljubov’ Aleksandrovna. On the other hand, the white Behrs have a great sympathy for intellectual interests, but their minds are weak and shallow. Sasha is multi-coloured, half-white. Slavochka is like you, and I love him. There’s something about his upbringing with all the overindulgence and spoiling that grates me the wrong way, but he will surely be a promising lad. Only Stëpa, I fear, will still cause us all much misfortune. He himself is bad for some reason, but his upbringing has been even worse. Yesterday on account of a dispute about the tutor, in which Tanja, Petja and Volodja ganged up on the tutor, Ljubov’ Aleksandrovna decided to place them all — except for Petja — in boarding schools. And I say: Fine, at least your conscience will be clear. But it’s true that the father is absent. I say: If I am to die [soon], I shall leave one bequest to Sonja, [namely,] that she place Serëzha in a state-run boarding school. And I haven’t actually said why I consider you really smart. Like a good wife, you think of your husband as yourself, and I remember how you said to me that all my military and historical [scenes] that I’ve put so much effort into will turn out poorly, while the [parts about] family, the characters’ traits and psychological [makeup] will turn out fine.¹³⁹ That is so true; nothing could be truer. And I remember your saying that to me, and I remember the whole of you like that. And, like Tanja, I feel like crying out: “Mamà, I want to go to Yasnaya, I want Sonja.” When I began this letter, I wasn’t quite myself, but I’m finishing it as quite a different person. My darling soul-mate! Only you love me as I love you, and there’s nothing I can’t bear, and everything is marvellous. Farewell, it’s time for me to get down to business.

Nº 21 – SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY
[LSA 11]
7 December [1864]. Evening. [Yasnaya Polyana]

I’m sitting here in your study, writing and weeping. I’m weeping about my [state of] happiness, about you, [the fact] that you’re not here. I’m remembering my whole past, I’m weeping because Mashen’ka¹⁴⁰ has started playing something, and the music, which I have not heard in a long time, has at once taken me out of my own realm of the nursery, diapers and children which I have not taken a single step out of for a long time and transported me somewhere far, far away, where everything is different. I’ve even become fearful — I have long silenced within myself all those strings which painfully resonated at the sound of music, at the sight of Nature, as well as at everything you seemed to be missing in me — and this sometimes annoyed you. But in this moment I feel everything, and it is both painful and good. It is better we don’t have all this as mothers and housewives. If only you could see how I am weeping now, you would be surprised, because I don’t know myself what about. I have always regretted that I have so little an understanding of all that is good, and now, at this moment, I wish these feelings had never been awakened in me. To you as a poet and writer such feelings are necessary, but to me as a mother and housewife they are only painful, because I cannot and must not give into them. — Lëvochka, when we see each other [again], never ask what happened to me or why I was crying; right at this moment I can tell you everything, but later on I would [only] feel ashamed. At this moment I am listening to music, all my emotions are uplifted, I am terribly in love with you, I see how beautifully the sun is setting through your windows. At this moment the Schubert melodies I used to be so indifferent to are stirring my whole soul, and I can’t restrain myself from weeping the most bitter tears, even though [I feel] good. Sweet Lëvochka, you are going to laugh at me, you will say I’m out of my mind. Now they’ll be lighting the candles, they’ll be calling me to breast-feed [my little girl], and I shall see what a mess Serëzha’s managed to make of himself, and my whole mood will be gone at once, as though nothing had ever happened to me. — Mashen’ka is standing by the bedroom window; I just walked by and she’s blowing her nose. I think she, too, is weeping. What has happened to us? I didn’t approach her, but that’s how it seemed to me. — I’m still looking around your study, and still remember how you used to get dressed for hunting over by the gun cupboard, how Dora would leap up so joyfully beside you, how you would sit at your desk and write, and I would come and fearfully open the door, peep in — to make sure I wasn’t disturbing you — and you would see how timid I was and say “Come in”. But that’s all I wanted. I remember how you used to lie on the sofa when you were ill; I remember the difficult nights you had following your bone dislocation, and Agaf’ja Mikhajlovna ¹⁴¹ would be [lying] on the floor, dreaming in the half-light, — and I was so sad — I can’t tell you how sad I was. God forbid we should ever part again. All this is a real ordeal. I shan’t be seeing you now for almost a week, my sweet dove. I just sent Serëzhka [Arbuzov] to Tula, and he brought me two letters: one from Tanja, the other was yours,¹⁴² with all your reminiscences about the past. It’s as though things will never be good for us, that it’s all just reminiscences — precisely that right now we are sad and it is very hard to live in this world. I can’t even talk of your arm without acute distress. How much trouble and grief, and what’s come out of it? It’s just the same [as before]. From what I can see, the operation took a lot of time, added a tremendous amount of suffering on the part of both you and me, with hardly any benefit. Most of all I’m afraid that you are starting to feel depressed because you won’t be able to control your arm as before. You want to do something or other, and your arm doesn’t move the way it should, and you begin to feel despondent. And now it seems [to you] that things are fine at home, at Yasnaya Polyana, but you’ll come and settle in, and I’ll start to irritate you again; and then there’s the diarrhœa, and the children — it will all seem routine. Oh, about Serëzha, I should tell you that the diarrhœa has continued without any change for several days now. He’s happy, but he’s weak and thin. Our little girl is doing fine, but now all day long she has trouble sleeping and fidgets — it takes up a lot of my time. In spite of that, I’ve managed now to read in the new Russkij vestnik a very silly story called “Doch’ upravljajushchego” [The manager’s daughter]¹⁴³ and the beginning of the English novel Armadale,¹⁴⁴ which I found very interesting, so much so that I spent a pleasant hour [on it]. It’s amazing how many English writers there are, and they’re all very interesting, while here all sorts are writing silly narratives. I still haven’t read [Dickens’ novel] Our Mutual Friend yet, and I didn’t continue reading it, as I gave it to Serëzha [Sergej Nikolaevich]. — Lëva, just imagine, my friend, what grief. Nanny went to a party at Anna Petrovna’s and on her way back she fell and injured her leg bone something awful; for a half-hour now her ankle’s been frightfully swollen and she’s in great suffering — I don’t know what to do. We’re applying cold compresses, and tomorrow I’ll send for the doctor. She can take a few steps, only with great pain. I’m holding up, don’t worry about me. I’m healthy, strong, and can do everything. Liza’s ill, too — with stomach fever, it seems. We are sending for Dr. Vigand,¹⁴⁵ and now the same woman [bone-setter] is straightening her leg that straightened your [arm]. If it turns out bad, I’ll send for Preobrazhenskij.¹⁴⁶ No matter how much we curse them, we still need them. I have my little girl in my arms, and I’m hastening to write to you, my dear friend. You see, I don’t hide anything from you. Now you be sensible and don’t be overly concerned, and don’t come home if the doctors don’t allow it. If something really bad happens, I’ll send you a wire. I’m hoping that Nanny has just a bruise and swollen tendons, since she can at least stand on her feet, even though it’s painful. What a miserable time this is! All I need now is to have a breakdown! But I’m a fighter. Yesterday my throat started hurting, and now that’s passed. The [bone-setter] tells me that Nanny had a dislocation, and that’s a shame. Farewell, dear friend. Now my workload has doubled, and I shan’t be writing you as much. Big hugs and kisses. What terrible misfortunes have befallen us! Serëzha, unfortunately, refuses to be cuddled, when he is ill, by anyone [except Nanny]. So she will have to lie down and cuddle him in her arms. I shall hand him to her. Don’t worry about me. I’ll do fine with Dushka’s¹⁴⁷ and Dunjasha’s¹⁴⁸ help. — The woman has now been doing the straightening, and Nanny assures me that she has got a lot better and has stopped moaning. Maybe it was simply a bruise and she’s improved with the cold water and camphor alcohol we applied. How are you doing? How is your unfortunate arm? I imagine you’ve grown even thinner. Hugs and kisses to dear Tanja for looking after you this way, and for our love to her (yours and mine). And Mamà, too, of course. I don’t write her because there’s too much I have to tell her. She still knows I love her, and you know that, too. Lëva dear, it is true that in the meantime you and I love each other, we can bear all things, and are strong enough for everything.

Your Sonja.

Nº 22 – LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA
[PSS 83/36]
11 December 1864. Moscow.

Sonja, darling. I’m in very good spirits — as good as I can be without you. I have three joys today. 1) This morning I went to take a bath, and, as usual, while in the water, I began to exercise my arm and push the bone back where it ought to be. You can imagine, how surprised I was to notice that the bone is sometimes forward by 1/8 of a vershok [about 1/2 cm], and when you push it, it goes back. After pushing it back, I tried raising it. In the water it lifted easily. I got up, and in the air, to my great surprise, I was able to raise it shoulder-height and higher — much higher — than my head. As long as I support the bone with my [other] arm, I can lift my [injured] arm without pain or difficulty. You can imagine how greatly delighted I was by this discovery. The question now is how to keep the bone in this position. The bandaging will hold it, but not completely, and, besides, it constrains my arm. Tomorrow I’ll have a visit from Nechaev, to whom I am grateful for the advice regarding the bath, the ointment and the bandaging, and after that I’ll still go and see Popov. They can take a look on the spot and see what needs to be done further.

This letter will probably arrive along with me, but I am writing it (apart from [the fact] that I’m feeling fine and wanting to talk with you) just in case I shan’t get there by Sunday, so that you will know that some kind of bandage or [doctor’s] examination of my arm has delayed me. That probably won’t happen. 2) This is not exactly a joy, but, nevertheless, pleasant news. This morning Ljubimov came to see me from Katkov’s, and negotiated for another three hours, and ended up getting me to release to them — i.e. allow them to print — 500 copies (I didn’t back away from the price) and making me tell them sharply that they were crude. He left, agreeing to everything, and asked me only to now leave them the manuscript.¹⁴⁹ Hence this matter is now closed. 3) Your letter,¹⁵⁰ candid and long. My darling, I rejoice in your tears, I understand them, I love them very, very, very much. Only it’s frightening [to think] they might be mixed in with regret, and isn’t there something I could do to make that regret go away? It saddens me that you still can’t say that Serëzha’s diarrhœa is over. Don’t say or think that I don’t love them. One of my chief desires is for Serëzha to be completely well. I would ask nothing more, even of a witch-doctor. It’s just that I don’t love them to the same degree that I love you. —

Another pleasant experience today — very pleasant — was that Zhemchuzhnikov¹⁵¹ came to see me, and, counter to your advice, I promised to read him several chapters. By co-incidence [Ivan Sergeevich] Aksakov showed up at just the same time. I read to them up to the place where Ippolit tells his story: “one girl”¹⁵² greatly appealed to both of them, especially Zhemchuzhnikov. They said it was charming. And I’m glad, and am more enthusiastic about continuing. It’s dangerous when there’s no praise or when praise is insincere; still, it is helpful when you feel you’ve made a strong impression. Under the influence of this delightful feeling we had a good conversation in the bedroom, and I took supper at the table, sitting at the very same place you were waiting for me when I proposed to you, which I recall ever so vividly. How could we not remember? Thank God, both our reminiscences about the past and our dreams of the future are good, and our present will be good, too. How lovely that when we see each other again, I shall behold the especially gladsome face which you make so beautifully at moments like this. I so vividly recalled, too, your terrified face, and your lilac-coloured dress. I kept pointing this place out to [your sister] Tanja, but she couldn’t guess [its significance]. —

Kisses to Auntie’s hands, and hugs and kisses to Masha, the Zephyrlets, big Serëzha and little Serëzha, and Tanja who’s still an infant. If God be willing, I shall bring this letter myself.

Nº 23 – LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA
[PSS 83/41]
27 July 1865. Voin.

Sonja! So you can see where I’m writing from.¹⁵³ I arrived late yesterday at the Novosil’tsovs’¹⁵⁴ and one way or another couldn’t get away any earlier than today at 2 o’clock. —

The old chap started telling me his anecdotes and stories from my good old era of 1812. But his son tormented me, showing off his estate. His house and estate are diametrically opposite to that of the Barons.¹⁵⁵ Everything’s for show and vainglory: parks, gazebos, ponds, points-de-vue, and it’s very good. But Yasnaya is better. And, can you imagine, the sight of his estate has aroused me to something you love and desire, [namely,] to do a thorough cleaning at Yasnaya. At the moment God knows when I shall arrive, but I shall come without stopping. I’ll release my horses here, as Baraban¹⁵⁶ has taken ill. I’ll buy everything [I need] at Orël. I am happy that they entertained me today, otherwise I would have been sad and greatly worried about you along the way. It’s funny to say this, but no sooner had I left than I thought how frightful it was for me to leave you alone. — Farewell, darling, be a good girl and write. Pëtr Petrovich is pacing around me as I write, getting in the way and saying things like “mettez-moi aux pieds de la Comtesse”. Farewell.

L. Tolstoy.

Nº 24 – SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY
[LSA 14]
28 July 1865. Evening. [Pokrovskoe.]

I’ve just now come from the Del’vigs’, my sweet friend Lëva. I was only two hours there. I drove in the wagon with Pavel,¹⁵⁷ quite apart from everyone else. I can’t tell you about their party and the guests. The provincial riff-raff, with pale-skinned ladies, with a provincial lion in a Russian velvet coat and black peau-de-soie pantaloons. Not fun at all and not funny. Their petits jeux are boring, the cavaliers’ jokes are silly and not funny; various jams on saucers, oldsters playing cards and children flitting here and there in gay-coloured dresses and little chiffon pantaloons. The only sweet things there are the host and hostess — the joyous and actually amazingly simple Fionochka, along with the baron himself — kindhearted and actually without any trace of pomposity. I deliberately tried to discover pomp in something, but couldn’t. Mashen’ka is highly respected in their circles, and I myself was made quite a fuss over. I didn’t want to go in the first place — it was frightening to leave the children even for a couple of hours. Anyway, they are safe and sound. Only Serëzha’s come down with a hoarse throat; I’m surprised it hasn’t passed yet.

Somehow I’ve missed telling you about receiving your sweet letter¹⁵⁸ this morning — sweet because you also regretted leaving me, and because I wasn’t the only one for whom your departure was sad and painful. I was very happy about that, and your letter was such a delight today that I have been carrying it around with me and reading it over and over again. I wasn’t surprised to learn that you stopped over at the Novosil’tsovs’. I’m glad that you had some rest and relaxation. It doesn’t matter to me where you are or what you do, as long as you’re first of all healthy and, secondly, happy. But you haven’t written to me anything concerning your stomach or the noise in your ear. Baraban [the horse] is now getting better and is starting to eat feed; you gave him a real work-out. I wanted to tell you what we did yesterday and today, but I don’t remember it very well. The only thing I remember about yesterday is that we spent the morning sewing and beading, then we went bathing twice and ate a lot of gooseberries. Last evening Mashen’ka went to visit the Sukhotins,¹⁵⁹ while the four of us young people all had a nice chat. We were in a poetic mood, and started telling the girls about our childhood and early youth, along with a few stories. Then Mashen’ka arrived, and it was obvious that we had an evening à confidences. The girls went off to bed, and she [Mashen’ka] told Tanja and me in detail about her romance with Turgenev, and about her romance abroad.¹⁶⁰ We broke up quite late, and for a long time I couldn’t sleep. I kept dreaming about you, half asleep, half awake. It seemed as though you were pointing to a corner where some lights were flickering, and saying: “Look, look…” It was so lonely and frightening. Only my little girl who was sleeping with me comforted and delighted me with her presence.

I got up late this morning and my head ached so. I spent the whole morning dressing Mashen’ka and the girls to go visiting — someone needed a ribbon, another earrings, a third wanted her hair combed. They went early, off to dinner, while I spent the whole time up to six o’clock transcribing for you, and made good progress indeed. At six [p.m.] the children got up and I had dinner with them at home. We had such a good and happy time together. Serëzha ate with an appetite, and was so sweet. It was almost eight by the time I went to see the barons. Tomorrow morning I am sending this letter — there probably won’t be any letter from you yet. Various gentlemen and ladies at the barons’ were asking for you, and wondering how your writing was coming along. “They’re just trying to be nosy,” I thought several times. Anyway, God knows who it was, but I’m pleased when they talk about you and praise you. My sweet Lëvochka, where are you right now? I’ve been thinking these are real hunting days — warm, with a drizzle. God grant you to be well and happy. Farewell, hugs and kisses, darling. Please do write me more often.

Nº 25 – LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA
[PSS 83/42]
27? July 1865. Orël.

I snatched this piece of stationery from the Novosil’tsovs.¹⁶¹

I’m writing several more lines from Orël, which I am now departing. I’ll reach Shablykino¹⁶² probably after midnight and I guess I’ll have to stay the night at a coaching inn. My health is just so-so, although one ear hurts. Travelling is boring, but the time I spent at the Novosil’tsovs’ was interesting — and [thus] very pleasant.

I’m going shopping now for some [new] shoes, but I shall probably not be able to send them home. If I did, they would probably not arrive before I got there. I’m getting more and more bored, depressed and frightened.

I probably shan’t find Kireevskij at home and shall spend the 28th chasing after him.

You know, if I can get to hunt on the 29th, 30th and 31st I shall be completely satisfied and could be home on the 2nd [of August], but that’s just a guess.

It’s turned out that instead of arriving [at Shablykino] this morning, I’ll get there tomorrow morning. In any case, I’ll be home by the 5th, and I hope and wish it to be earlier.

Never before our [most recent] separation have we been so unemotional as this time, and so I do worry about you. Farewell, darling. Write a detailed account of everything in your diary. At least I’ll [be able to] read it when I get home.

L. Tolstoy.

On the fourth page: To her Ladyship the Countess Sofia Andreevna Tolstaja, Chern’, Village of Pokrovskoe, [estate of] Countess [Marija Nikolaevna] Tolstaya.

Nº 26 – SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA LEV NIKOLAEVICH
[LSA 15]
29 July 1865. [Pokrovskoe.]

I never anticipated such happiness, my sweet Lëvochka, that you would send me yet another letter. I’ve just risen, and Dushka [Avdot’ja Ivanovna Bannikova] has brought me a little note — I wondered who it might be from, and all at once [I saw] it’s another one from you. So sorry to hear your health is still not good — you won’t believe the constant suffering I’ve gone through over your health. Again, I was delighted to hear that you are still thinking of me all the time, only what gave you the idea that we were indifferent to each other before you left? I was not indifferent, I was sad that you were leaving, especially since you weren’t well. Your indifference, on the other hand, I considered to be a jaundiced, unhealthy attitude in which you hold nothing dear and nothing touches you. It would be good if you came earlier, but I’m afraid to ask you; maybe you’ll be happy, but I shouldn’t be selfish. But there’s still a week to go to the fifth [of August].

Can you just imagine — all day long, whenever someone passes by, I look out the window to see if it’s a wagon, maybe you’ve started to miss me and are coming home. But that’s all it is, a silly fantasy. What kind of condition are you in now? Did you find Kireevskij? And the days now are nice and warm, and good for hunting; it would be a shame to waste them chasing after Kireevskij. And every evening I count another day gone by, thank God, and write you before I go to bed. Today again we got up very late — my little girl, who’s been inseparable from me, suddenly sat up beside me in the middle of the night, and started in “Ma, Ma, Ma”. But the candle had already gone out in the room, I was so surprised. So we stayed up together until almost three a.m. She was so cheerful and lively. Then we [adults] drank coffee in the house, recounting to each other the adventures and the gala day we had at the Barons’. I kept on copying right up until my bath-time, but things went slowly. I no sooner had started transcribing than the children interfered or the flies started biting something terrible — not only that, but then it would get interesting and I would go on reading and begin forming my own opinions about all the characters and scenes of your novel. I really like Dolokhov. But I still feel myself a part of the primitive reading public. We all went bathing, including my children. Serëzhka laughed, and my little girl kept crying “Ma, Ma, Ma!” and crawled to me in the water. After dinner we were all picking berries in the garden, and then I requested Baraban be hitched to the wagon, and Serëzha and I went for a drive just through a field, along a smooth path. At first he was very cheerful, we gave him the reins and he urged the horse on, shouted “Whoa”, pointed to Pavel, laughed and said “Pa”. And then all at once he fell asleep. When we got home, he again set out for a walk. I wheeled him around the garden in a wheelbarrow; this really delighted him, and he let out whoops of joy. Just now we’ve been taking tea, and once I finish this letter, I’ll get down to transcribing some more. So that’s everything that’s happening with me today. Just about everyone else in our community is spending their time this way, too. Everyone’s healthy, the children, too. Serëzha still has a hoarse throat. You asked me to write more specifically, so here it is right down to the last detail. Only you told me I shouldn’t get angry [over anything]; on this score you can rest assured, I am in the most calm and unexcitable of spirits, though sad without you. It might seem as though it’s deliberate, but when you’re not around I do make an effort to be better. But it’s not deliberate, only that I’m so occupied by the thought of your absence, by your condition and whereabouts and safety, and how soon you’ll be home, that I can’t be touched or concerned by anything else. — If you saw me, you would probably say, as you always do, with special emphasis: “Don’t explain, don’t explain!”. But, my sweet Lëva, I constantly feel I want to tell and explain everything to you. Lëvochka, make your letters to me a little longer, if you have the time. Even just a few minutes a day would be happy ones with your obvious participation. Otherwise [my life] feels so empty, so lonely. Today Serëzha looked so cheerfully at your portrait, pointed to it with a big smile and said “Papà”. He’s become even more precious on account of the constant, sincere and genuine love for you that he and I share. After all, nobody taught him to love you, and that must mean it’s something he really feels. He’s terribly sweet; only today he again cried out something awful — probably just on a whim. That’s a pity. You’ll say that I’m rather spoilt myself. What to do? On the other hand, my little girl today practically beat me for taking a gooseberry away from her. And who spoilt her? Nobody could have managed to spoil her yet, she’s too small. Lizan’ka is surprised that I can write so much to you; if she actually read the trifles I write to you, she would start laughing at me, but I can’t possibly stop writing to you. I don’t give much thought to how or what I’m writing to you. — Tanja [SAT’s sister] sings all the time, she’s very much in voice, and very animated — her singing is touching. It seems she can be made to forget the past — that’s my impression, though I may be mistaken. Lëvochka, my dove, right at this moment I am simply dying to see you and to take tea together with you under the little windows at Nikol’skoe, and to run over to Aleksandrovka ¹⁶³ and once again live our sweet life at home. Farewell, darling, precious, huge hugs and kisses. Write and take care of yourself — that is my will.

Your Sonja.

Kisses from [your] elder daughter, your nieces,¹⁶⁴ too, and Mashen’ka says “From me, too!”. They wanted to make sure I added that. They are enthusiastically devouring their potatoes at dinner. That’s it for now.

I’ve just come into my lonely room in the bath-house¹⁶⁵ to seal this letter before going to bed — and oh my, what longing, and loneliness, and anxiety! I’m sure you don’t feel half the anxiety for me that I do for you.

Nº 27 – LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA
[PSS 83/55]
11 November 1866. Moscow.

And so we’ve arrived, my precious dove. And we’ve arrived safe and sound and found everyone safe and sound. We drove faster than we had anticipated, so that we reached the court physician’s doors ¹⁶⁶ before eight o’clock. I don’t know where anyone was [before that], but they all met us with the usual screams on the stairs and in the dining room. Andrej Evstaf’evich looks exactly the same as he did last year — he is very happy about the puppy¹⁶⁷ and put it in his room in the annexe. Ljubov’ Aleksandrovna looks a little plumper. She’s very glad to see Tanja, though I can detect in her eyes and in what she says the hostile arrière pensée that Tanja is going off with the D’jakovs¹⁶⁸ [to Italy]. Both parents, as you guessed, stubbornly insist that Tanja can’t possibly have consumption —and [they say this] with self-confident rancour, even Ljubov’ Aleksandrovna. They are still talking about Tanja’s trip in passing, without belabouring the point, as though feeling that this is a topic demanding further discussion. — Petja [SAT’s brother Pëtr, 17] has grown up quite a bit since [the last time]. And he’s still morose. Volodja [her brother Vladimir, 13] is not well — his throat is sore, and he looks gloomy, but meek. Stëpa [her brother Stepan, 11] is cheerful and happy; he is the third [best pupil] in his class and hopes to make it to the Gold Board. Slavochka [her brother Vjacheslav, 5] is still the same, from what I can see. Liza [her elder sister Elizaveta] is downstairs with Tanja in the big room. Volodja and Stëpa are in your [family’s] annexe. Petja is in Nanny’s room and I am with him.

At Tanja’s suggestion we didn’t [stop for] anything to eat the whole way, and thanks to that I arrived quite refreshed, but now I’ve had my fill of tea, ate some grouse, which Andrej Evstaf’evich carved for me with his sweet, naïve hospitality, and now my face is flushed and I feel tired and lazy. Apart from that, I don’t know what else might be of interest. Ljubov’ Aleksandrovna is constantly asking after our children. It’s actually quite touching. We’ll be sending Sasha [Tolstaya’s brother Aleksandr] a telegram. Ol’ga Abakumova is going to marry Matveev,¹⁶⁹ Tanja’s “half-loaf, better than none!” (as Liza said I should write). Liza’s thinned down some, she had an awful toothache; they pulled out the tooth, but it was terribly painful.

Tomorrow I’ll go to see Bashilov¹⁷⁰ as well as to [Katkov’s] printing-house and the Rumjantsev Museum to read about the Masons. Farewell, darling dove, know and remember that I have been thinking of you along the way no less than you [have been thinking of me], I am thinking of you now and shall be thinking of you. Farewell, precious Sonja, Serëzha, Tanja, Iljusha.¹⁷¹ Kisses for Auntie’s hand. ’Til tomorrow.

Nº 28 – SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY
[LSA 17]
11 November 1866. Evening [Yasnaya Polyana]

These past twenty-four hours I have been mentally travelling with you, my Lëva, and now once again I can picture how happy you are, and how happy they all were [in Moscow] to see you [and my sister Tanja], and, I must admit, if it weren’t for the cheerful, sweet voices of [my children] Serëzha and Tanja, I would be very sad and even bored by the monotonous snoring of Natasha ¹⁷² and Auntie [Tat’jana Andreevna Ergol’skaja], both of whom sleep and doze every evening. Today I spent practically the whole day transcribing. I didn’t get very far ahead, though, as I got distracted. But transcribing is pleasant, as though a close friend were sitting [with me] in the same room, and [this friend] doesn’t need to be entertained — it’s just good that he is here. This is how it is with my copying: I don’t have to think, but simply to follow and benefit from the various thoughts of another, one very close to me, and from that comes good. Today I got involved in a number of projects, but I still haven’t felt the need for activity which always comes upon me in your absence. It’s just that everywhere I feel an emptiness and lethargy and dissatisfaction with myself, along with a tinge of animosity towards others. Don’t get upset over that — what to do? But I can’t help telling you everything that’s going on with me, even if it doesn’t interest you. What time I have free from the children this evening I’m going to be reading — that’s very pleasant in the mood that I’m in right now. I’ve been looking at Turgenev’s Rudin, and I even had the impression that I, too, have outgrown it. I simply didn’t like it.

Tanja and Iljusha are the same as yesterday — quite cheerful, and coughing only in the morning, and Serëzha has mild diarrhœa, which will probably be over by tomorrow. I’m still in doubt. I want to send for the Englishwoman but am still hesitant. I’m very grateful to you for your note from Tula.¹⁷³ I think the [two] of you must have travelled on a fairly good road to the end. It was warm, and I think the dog must have bothered you. Just now [little] Tanja came over to me and said: “Take Papasha down from the wall and I shall take a look”, and this morning Serëzha was asking: “Why isn’t Papasha come?” They take note of your absence. How could anyone not notice it? This morning, just think, I get a letter addressed to you from Pirogovo from Egor Mikhajlovich.¹⁷⁴ He writes that the Countess needs a carriage to send him to Khitrovo¹⁷⁵ — i.e. to the Baron. Of couse, Ljubochka¹⁷⁶ will come and spout all sorts of nonsense, and Masha no doubt intends to stay on longer at Pirogovo. I must say I’ve actually started to feel quite annoyed and disagreeable. I’m not bothered too much about the mode of transport — he’ll get there even in a gipsy cart — but I feel very sympathetic towards the girls [Marija Nikolaevna’s daughters Liza and Varja].

How are things with all of you, how is Tanja [Tolstaya’s sister], how is her health, how will the doctors and her parents find her? I am living with the lot of you with all my heart, and am still asking myself “When will you rise [spiritually]?” I so do want to rise above this boredom and nastiness. Now my reply to Tanjusha would be: “No, I’m nasty.” Do write me a little more, Lëvochka. I love you so much, my sweet, and without you I am such an insignificant creature. Ever since we parted yesterday, I keep reminiscing and thinking how lovely it will be to see each other again. And now I send you a kiss, my sweet friend, stay healthy. I’m not trying to hurry you, because I know that it will be very sad for Papà and the whole Behrs family, and I know that you yourself will be in haste to get home. Farewell, darling. Serëzha hasn’t slept today, and I keep hearing him fooling about, and it’s late already. Farewell.

Nº 29 – SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY
[LSA 18]
12 November [1866]. Saturday evening [Yasnaya Polyana]

My sweet friend Lëva, just think, before dinner today the L’vovs’ tall Englishwoman ¹⁷⁷ came by with her sister — our Englishwoman. I was even thrown all into a heat, and even now all my thoughts are muddled, and still my head aches from excitement. Well, how to describe all this to you? She’s just as I had expected her to be. Very young, quite sweet, a pleasant face, quite nice, really, but our ignorance of each other’s language is abysmal. Her sister is staying with us tonight, so she can act as our interpreter, but what will happen after that, God knows. I’m completely lost, especially when you’re not here, my sweet friend. This time I remembered your rule, about how we should think how light and insignificant it’s all going to seem a year from now. But now I’d even say it’s extremely difficult. The children have been coping, Tanja has been sitting in her arms, looking at pictures, and saying something to her on her own. Serëzha went running with her, said “She like plays with me!”. Then Tanja in the nursery imitated the Englishwoman’s voice, and no doubt everything will turn out all right in the end, but for the moment it all seems very unnatural, difficult, awkward and frightening. I keep searching for you in my soul as a support; maybe you’re not here, but in that case we might get through it even sooner. One thing is simply dreadful — that we can’t understand each other at all. I thought I would be able to understand better than I do. Her sister, that is, the L’vovs’ Englishwoman, looks at everything with some suspicion and animosity, while ours, it seems, is kind-hearted and tries to get along. Tomorrow I’ll let you know how things go without her sister as interpreter. — My children are healthy, only Iljusha is coughing [now], while Tanja has stopped completely. Everyone’s cheerful, they’re not fooling about, and they took a nap during the day. I was quite emotional all morning; I felt very nervous, but now all that’s changed, and all the threads of my mind and heart are concentrated on the Englishwoman.

For some time now I have been getting a tremendous emotional uplift from your novel. Just as soon as I sit down to transcribe, I am carried away into some kind of poetic world, and it even seems to me that it is not so much that your novel is good (of course it instinctively seems that way), but that I’m so smart. Please don’t laugh at me, but my head aches so much I can’t even lie because of it. Only, I swear to God, I’m not lying at all, I’m trying so hard to express everything with accuracy. — Lëvochka, now I’m going to write you about something you don’t like, but, indeed, I have to. The thing is, you left me 50 roubles and I’ve spent almost all of it on string, a sleigh, salaries, travelling to Moscow, etc. And still they say: “The Count has ordered it, it is absolutely necessary.” And so [soon] I shall have nothing to live on, and the Count has supposedly ordered wheat to be sent when the new workers arrive, which, of course, I have seen neither hide nor hair of. I have no idea how I’ll pull through. Best you hurry as fast as possible, to get here sooner. I’ve become so mixed up. The estate, and the children, and the Englishwoman, and all that. The piglets and the butter are being sent first thing tomorrow morning. Here are six bottles of honey fungus and Mamà’s butter. I’m not sending a letter with them by cart, as I am writing you every day through the post in any case. Lëvochka, dear, how are you all getting along there? If only I could free myself from all my cares and fly to the Kremlin! I just might receive at least a wee note from you tomorrow, but, not likely — it’s still too early. Today I gave the children a bath and, if the weather is good, in a few days I’ll start taking walks with them. It will make them happier. One thing that really bothers me is that [little] Tanja’s appetite has all but disappeared. She eats nothing except milk all day long. How’s Papà? Big Tanja? How all that alarms me, and how hard it is! As I write, I can hear our Hannah having a hearty laugh with her sister Jenny. Isn’t it difficult and frightening for her, after all? Jenny’s still insisting that I feed her sister, especially meat, five times a day. That’s what she’s accustomed to. And all that’s something I need to sort out. Write me a letter which is encourageant. Perhaps it will even arrive with you. Farewell, darling, how I would love to talk with you so we could sort out everything together!

Hugs and kisses from me to all my dear ones in the Kremlin — Papà, Mamà, [my sister] Tanja, and all the [Behrs] children. Tell them to pity me. It isn’t easy for me, not knowing the [English] language, to hand over [my] children to her and [have her] twist their tongues. But I’m still glad this step has been taken.

Hugs and kisses to you, as strong as can be. God be with you. Stay healthy and remember me and love me. One day my emotional imprisonment — i.e. life without you — will come to an end.

Sonja.

Nº 30 – LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA
[PSS 83/58]
14–15 November 1866. Moscow. [Preceded by SAT’s Nº 3U, 13 November 1866]

Even though it’s late, I’m glad that finally nothing is stopping me from writing to you, my darling. The morning is exactly the same as in recent days. But lately I’ve been feeling as though I’m seventy years old. I went to the Rumjantsev Museum, but it was closed in honour of Dagmar’s birthday.¹⁷⁸ From there, in order to save Tanja an errand, I drove over to the English store to buy her a dress and a nightgown for you. Everybody liked the nightgown, but did not approve of the dress, but it was because Tanja said to get one for ten roubles.

From there I went to [Katkov’s] printing-house. They’ve agreed to my conditions, but tomorrow they’ll be sending a gentleman over for final negotiations. Before dinner I waited at home for Varvarinskij,¹⁷⁹ who never came. He is ill and tomorrow Tanja and Papà are going to see him. Stupid [Sergej Mikhajlovich] Sukhotin came by. After dinner we went to see [Gounod’s opera] Faust — Auntie Nadja,¹⁸⁰ Liza, Mamà, Tanja and I. Andrej Evstaf’evich arrived later. The theatre there was holding a gala in honour of [Grand Duchess] Dagmar’s birthday. Faust is silly, and you may not believe it but I do not like the theatre, and always feel like criticising. There was nobody I knew there except for Severtsev,¹⁸¹ who came into our loge. He’s got uncommonly good-looking and mature. Yes, I forgot. This morning Vasilij Islen’ev¹⁸² dropped by. He was repulsive as usual, but now he’s even more obnoxious: he’s been promoted to court bailiff — something like a private bailiff. I discovered why he made such an impression on me, and Tanja confirmed it. It’s awkward and shameful to look at him, as though he had unwittingly lost his trousers. Then there were the Zajkovskijs: Dmitrij Dmitrievich and Èmilija.¹⁸³ I retract my first impression of Dmitrij Zajkovskij. You’re right, he is an exceptionally dear and clever young man comme il faut. And he ought to be good. I was especially nice to him, again remembering you. After dinner I also received your first letter.¹⁸⁴ And Mamà and I got so caught up in praising you that we actually felt embarrassed. How sad about Masha! As for little Tanja, I can just picture her and the thought of her makes me feel radiant. Read this to them: Serëzha dear, and Tanja dear, and Iljusha dear — I love them. Serëzha is now big, he will write to Papasha. And have him and Tanja write something — i.e. draw something for me. — I left the theatre in the middle of an act, and went to see the Sushkovs.¹⁸⁵ Everything was just as it was fifteen years ago, even the guests — including Princess Meshcherskaja,¹⁸⁶ née Countess Panina — a huge woman with masculine features, very kind and intelligent. I knew her as a young lady, and now she has 4 children, while I have 3. She’s invited me over on Wednesday. I don’t know whether I’ll go. And then there was Princess Liven,¹⁸⁷ a rather silly and primitive young lady. I returned home with our [family] and we really enjoyed our supper together. Tanja is cheerful, but as she came out of the theatre she was [coughing] blood. Oh, this poor, dear Tanja! I can’t tell you how sorry I feel for her and how dear she is to me. Your letter so touched her that she couldn’t hold back her tears, neither could I. It is very sad that it wasn’t we who were to give her this money, but some kind of ‘mixed-up fairy godmother’.¹⁸⁸ [Ekaterina Fëdorovna] Tjutcheva, it seemed to me, was truly moved by the part of The Year 1805 that was published last year and said that she liked the second part better than the first, and the third better than the second. I treasure her opinion just as I treasure Sukhotin’s; it, too, is a grass-roots expression, though on a slightly higher level than Sukhotin’s. They insisted I read them something, but I said, first of all, that I would be leaving soon and didn’t have much time, and that I needed to have someone I wanted there at the same time. They promised to invite anybody I wanted, but I didn’t make any firm promises myself. Vjazemskij ¹⁸⁹ is not in Moscow. — Tomorrow I shall be already expecting your letter in answer to my [previous one], but as of now we won’t have to be writing one another for much longer. I’ll be home soon. Nothing more to do [here]. And it’s very sad being without you. If I’m still not ready to [depart], it’s because I keep having the feeling that I might have left some unfinished business behind in Moscow which I shall afterwards regret. Farewell, my precious dove, kisses on your eyes, your neck and your arms. Give a kiss [from me] to Auntie’s hand. Tell Natasha that [the dog] Joy is [now] indoors. And take note what good care means — that [it] doesn’t make a mess. Keep Dolly indoors as well.

Nº 31 – SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY
[LSA 19]
14 November [1866]. Monday. [Yasnaya Polyana]

We’ve just come back from a ride [in the sleigh], dear Lëva; they are putting the children to bed, while [now] I am extending my pleasure of writing you the whole day long — morning and evening.

It was warm during our outing, the children are quite healthy, and the [outdoor] air refreshed me. Hannah was so happy she jumped up in the sleigh and kept saying “so nice” [in English] — I’m sure that meant she was having a good time. And right there in the sleigh she explained to me that she loved me and the children very much, that the “country” is good and that she is “very happy”. I understand her well enough, but it takes some effort and is quite a challenge. [Right now] she is sitting and sewing little pantaloons for the children, while the elderly nanny is putting them to bed. When [Hannah] takes full charge of them, it’ll be a lot better; at the moment her duties are less by half. Still, she’s a help to me; I’ll soon learn [English], I’m certain, and that would be very nice. For the time being she takes her meals and drinks tea with us. I shan’t change anything until you [come home], we’ll have time for that [later]. But she’s looking forward to — and seems to understand — her future responsibilities. She’s no nanny, she behaves quite like an equal, but doesn’t see any task as a burden, and seems to be very kind-hearted. The complete opposite of her sister, whom I find [rather] unpleasant. Lëvochka, there’s nothing more I can write to you about, since at the moment my whole life is [wrapped up] with the Englishwoman and all my efforts are directed at accustoming the children to her as soon as possible. They spend their whole day upstairs. We both keep looking at our dictionaries and pointing to words in books that we don’t understand.

Right now the whole house is being washed — a big bother. As for the estate, I know that they’ve hired [people] to bring in the wheat, only don’t think I was in charge of that — I don’t get involved in anything. I’ve also heard that a Pirogovo peasant said that he hired thirty-five workers and that they’ll all be coming in a couple of days.

At the moment I’m just dying to receive mail. Probably it will come today. It’s so hard to go so long without news. I keep thinking: if only we had a railway!¹⁹⁰ How are you doing in Moscow? What have you decided as regards our ‘shrine’ — your novel? I’ve now started to think of it as your (meaning mine, too) baby, and releasing these sheets of paper comprising your novel to Moscow is literally letting go of a child, and I’m fearful lest it come to any harm. I’ve really fallen in love with your creation. It’s doubtful I’ll love anything as much as this novel.

If only you knew how much our elderly nanny is grieving;¹⁹¹ I feel so touched by her and so sorry that the children have been taken from her. And when they take the children out of the nursery for the night, she says she practically dies of longing. She says, “It’s like I’ve suffered a loss, I’m so lonely.” I’m so grateful to her, and it moves me to tears that she loves them so much. Even if I stopped having children, I would not part with her. I’d find something for her to do around the house.

Evening.

They’ve just come back from Tula, but there aren’t any letters. I’m simply afraid of myself, how upset I am — how sad and fearful. Tomorrow’s the last day: if there aren’t any letters [tomorrow] I’ll send a telegram, otherwise I may simply go out of my mind. I’ll say just one thing: never ever again will I stay alone for a whole week. Why should I suffer so much torment — is it because I love you too much? I can’t count all the horrors I imagine might have happened to you once I merely start thinking about it. I’ve got a lot of things to take care of here — coping with the dear sweet children and the Englishwoman, but my heart shrinks all day long and at any moment I might burst out in desperation with some downright stupid remark. I imagine, too, some sort of terrible thing happening in the Kremlin with Tanja and all of you, whom I love so very much. Lëvochka, farewell. I do want to write to you, but I’m only getting more and more upset. Lord! What has happened with all of you?

Nº 32 – LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA
[PSS 83/59]
15 November 1866. Moscow.

I seem to be very tired for no apparent reason, my sweet darling, and I’ll just write you a brief [note].

After coffee I went to the Rumjantsev Museum¹⁹² and stayed there until 3 o’clock reading Masonic manuscripts — very interesting. And I can’t tell you why, but the reading brought on a [state of] melancholy, from which I haven’t been able to free myself the whole day. It’s sad, but all those Masons were fools. —

From there I went to the gymnasium.¹⁹³ I felt stronger than the last time. And [then] to dinner. Anke was having dinner and Sukhotin devoured everything in large quantities and kept on chattering without stopping. Varin’ka Perfil’eva¹⁹⁴ was there, too, whom I hadn’t seen since Sukhotin’s. In the evening the Zajkovskijs came by, along with Bashilov and someone from the printers’. The noise, the Zajkovskijs’ shouts, the haste, the awkwardness… well, you know the feeling. I was very glad when Princess Èlena¹⁹⁵ called me — I went to see her, and now I’ve just come from her place — I spent an hour and a half with her there en tête-à-tête and wasn’t bored at all. Occasionally she can be most pleasant, though I still felt sleepy. — Varvarinskij showed up while I was gone, and confirmed what Rastsvetov ¹⁹⁶ had said, though, according to Andrej Evstaf’evich and Ljubov’ Aleksandrovna, he said there weren’t any tubercles yet, but they might develop. — While listening to Sukhotin’s¹⁹⁷ chatter and the Zajkovskijs’ squeals, I waited for any letters from you, but the blasted post-office will probably bring two of them tomorrow [instead]. Still haven’t finished at the printers’. And now once again there’s the possibility of putting in illustrations. I’ll probably resolve everything tomorrow. In the morning I’ll try to finish up the copying and reading I need to do at the museum. Farewell, sweet dove. Until tomorrow.

Nº 33 – SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY
[LSA 21]
Saturday, 17 June 1867. Evening. [Yasnaya Polyana]

My sweet Lëvochka, I have endured a whole day and night without you around, and it’s with such a joyful heart that I am sitting down to write to you. Writing to you — even about the most trifling things — is really my greatest comfort. As soon as you left yesterday¹⁹⁸ I lay down, but awoke after about two hours and wasn’t able to fall asleep again almost the whole night from a terribly strong toothache, which was gone in the morning without leaving the slightest trace. It’s now almost eleven p.m., and my teeth don’t ache a bit. I’m so happy to be freed from that. The children, too, are all healthy and likewise the Behrs family. This morning I kept pacing from corner to corner, feeling so lonely and unhappy. I took tea all alone. Then Aleksandr Grigor’evich¹⁹⁹ came and was very annoyed not to find you here. I entertained him, then let Hannah go bathing with Mamà and [big] Tanja (I didn’t go bathing myself), while I myself took the children for a walk in the garden, which is always a delight for me. I told them a story. We looked to see how the wild strawberries were doing, and were very happy. I told them you had gone to Moscow. [Little] Tanja all at once perked up and said: “Yes, he’s gone, yes, he’s gone.” But Serëzha asked: “Will he come today?” Before dinner I was in the nursery and heard Petja’s²⁰⁰ cheerful voice (he was to have gone with the Kuzminskijs²⁰¹ to Tula in the morning), and I see Petja with Misha Bibikov²⁰² standing in the dining room. I told Bibikov I was very happy to see him here, and they left. While travelling along the highway with Kuzminskij, this Petja had met up with a whole convoy of members of the Bibikov family, and brought Misha back on the return coach from Jasenkov and now Misha will stay with us — i.e. with Petja — until next Saturday. Petja is so happy that he laughs all day long and is terribly animated. — After dinner I was busy around the estate — I checked to see whether the horses had been fed, and discovered they hadn’t been given bread. I called the village elder, and told him to include bread. Anyway, they saw that I was keeping an eye out, and that’s the main thing, isn’t it? Then I visited the cattle stalls, and now, after [receiving] your note,²⁰³ I shall take a look at the beehives as well. I’ll even try to go there at least twice. This evening a carriage arrived [with Mamà’s luggage]; everything’s safe and sound. Mamà looked after it and did some unpacking while I sewed and talked a bit with les gamins. Aleksandr Grigor’evich left after dinner. Kuzminskij’s not here today, he’ll come tomorrow. I, too, am not comfortable with either of them, and I’m afraid (and probably know for certain), that there won’t be any happiness, because, most importantly, there’s no love — or, if there is, it’s very little. But he’s not a bad sort, and I like him, despite your impression of him. The only thing bad is that there’s no love there. Now Tanja’s argued with me hotly and excitedly that there can’t be any fervent love, since they’ve known each other so long, and they’ve already loved each other in the past. What’s the point of their marriage? Why? So all that’s unclear and unhappy. How different it is with you and me, how clear and good everything is; there is so much love [between us] that it’s very hard to part from each other, and I’m constantly afraid for you. Maybe Tanja will be able to content herself with Sasha’s little and youthful love, but I can’t understand it. You see, I know that you love me, and still I often think: “More, more”, and I start doubting, and I need proof, and I look within you for some sort of irritation towards me, so that you will keep on saying that you love me, love me, love me. — Lëvochka, I’ve been feeling very silly all day because I didn’t sleep all night, and my letter’s silly, and I can’t express my thoughts clearly, but that’s the way it is. I imagine you’re really getting down to your projects, but how will you finish them? For God’s sake, be calmer, cheerier, don’t quarrel with anyone, preserve your health, think of me a bit more and don’t worry about us; I’ll take care of everyone, and won’t make any stupid blunders myself. And if you should come earlier [than planned], you know how happy that will make me. I’m afraid to ask you about this, but I can’t [help it], as this is my most cherished innermost thought. — Tomorrow I’ll be going to the church to offer communion to the children and Mamà. While you’re not here I will be altogether active and agile, and especially give myself to the children more [than usual]. Today I was so nasty, particularly with Tanja; she put on some kind of hostile and also commanding tone, and I got upset. But we didn’t quarrel, it’s just that I muttered in the presence of Mamà. Now poor Tanja’s come down with a fever, and once again I’m frightened for her, and once again I’ve felt so much love for her. It’s true she’s unlucky — she’ll never be completely happy — it’s something I know and foresee. Lëvochka, write me more regularly, every day, otherwise I’ll actually go out of my mind if I don’t receive a single letter from you. If you see Papà again, give him and Liza a kiss from me. Lëva, I’ll be expecting you Saturday au plus tard. That’s what I say in words, but in my soul I shall be expecting you on Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and so forth. Farewell, my sweet dove, with tight, tender and passionate kisses.

If you should go bathing in Moscow, don’t do anything foolish, don’t swim where it’s deep. Farewell, I’m going to bed. Where are you this evening? You’re probably home by now.

Sonja.

Nº 34 – LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA
[PSS 83/65]
18 June 1867. Moscow.

I am ashamed that I didn’t write to you yesterday, dear friend, but it’s evidently for the better, as yesterday I would have written nasty things, my letter would not have been in [the right] spirit. — We had an excellent trip, even a particularly lucky one (at the highway toll-gate they asked me for 64 kopeks. I thrust my hand into my pocket and pulled out a fistful of change: exactly 64 kopeks). Then on the train I got to know a sheepherder who has his own company; he gave me a whole course in practical sheepherding — nothing like you’d find anywhere else. I wasn’t actually tired, but my liver started to hurt and I felt sick to my stomach. After we arrived in Moscow, despite having a bath, I felt quite out of sorts. Something like the bilious fever I had during Holy Week, but much weaker. They put us downstairs. I’m [staying] in the girls’ wing,²⁰⁴ while Bibikov²⁰⁵ is in Petja’s. This morning I sent for Bashilov²⁰⁶ and Bartenev.²⁰⁷ Bartenev will come tomorrow from Petersburg; Bashilov came (his wife hasn’t given birth yet) and said that Bartenev has decided to undertake publishing my edition himself. I’ll be seeing him tomorrow, and I shall be very glad if I can get by without Katkov and work with him [instead]. There can be no possibility of illustrations in the first edition, Bashilov said. After that I went to the exhibit,²⁰⁸ which is open for the last time today. I found a lot there that was unsightly and mindless and little that was interesting. Then I drove over to [Petrovsky] Park, where [last night] I had sent Ljubov’ Aleksandrovna’s letter with my postscript, and arrived at 4 [p.m.].

Your Papà is healthy and cheerful, and kind, and nice to me, as always. — Liza is very nice, too. They were telling me about Gedrojts²⁰⁹ and his cynicism — that’s terrible, unbelievable, and I shall tell you about it with a groan. Then I drove over to see Zakhar’in;²¹⁰ he wasn’t at home, but he is in Moscow, and I left him a note, asking him to set up an appointment for me. If he sends me a message back to say when, that means he is ready to pay attention to me, and then I’ll go see him; otherwise, the day after tomorrow I’ll buy [a bottle of] Kissingen [mineral water] and on Andrej Evstaf’evich’s advice I shall start drinking it [regularly] and send [a supply] to Yasnaya. Then I went to see Samarin,²¹¹ who was out as well (though still in Moscow) and left him my address. —

Yesterday as we were approaching Moscow, when I caught sight of this dust and the crowd and could sense the heat and the noise, I felt so frightened and miserable that I wanted to run as fast as I could and [hide] under your wing. I always love you all the more when I am away from you. The other day, as soon as I drove out past Zaseka,²¹² doing quite a bit of thinking about the situations of our lovers,²¹³ I had such [negative] thoughts come to me that I almost asked Bibikov to turn [the carriage] around so that I could go back and say something to them, but I remembered Ljubov’ Aleksandrovna’s words that everything is God’s will, and remembered that she was there, and I calmed down. Oh, if only they could become as happy as I am as quickly as possible, and not remain in the state of alarm and uncertainty that I left them in. —

This evening I feel better, and by tomorrow I hope to be completely well. This attack is also a stroke of luck. If it weren’t for it, I would not have thought about Zakhar’in and would not drink the water which he will probably prescribe and which is always healthful. How are your teeth? Have you really been bathing? How precious you are to me — how better, purer, more honest, dearer and more precious than anyone else in the world! I look at your childhood portraits and am filled with delight.

I shall probably leave soon — both because luck is going my way (64 kopeks) and because without you I am devoid of expression.

Hugs and kisses to the children, to Auntie, and to all and sundry. Farewell, my dove.

Sunday evening.

Nº 35 – LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA
[PSS 83/71]
25 September 1867. Moscow.

It’s now 5 o’clock in the afternoon on the 25th. I’m on my way to Borodino²¹⁴ with Stëpa,²¹⁵ whom they allowed to accompany me at my request. I’m carrying a letter with me to the manager of Anikeeva’s²¹⁶ estate, located ten versts from Borodino, along with a letter to the Mother Superior of the convent²¹⁷ there. I shall probably not stop anywhere until I reach Borodino. I’m travelling by post-horse. For a full day and a half I’ve been rushing about various trifling tasks. The printing is going slowly, and that’s not because of me, but because of an interruption in the postal system (this last time the manuscript [I] sent still hasn’t been received — send me a receipt) and because of [the printer] Ris’s²¹⁸ sluggishness — he needs a nudge. I’m so healthy, as I always am in the city.²¹⁹

Our whole family is so precious and kind, as always. Petja is a good student, and everyone’s immersed in their studies. Hugs and kisses to all our people — you and the children especially. If Masha ²²⁰ is visiting us, I hope she understands why my trip is essential. Farewell, darling. I’ll send you a wire Thursday morning [28 September]. —

On the envelope: To Her Ladyship Countess Sofia Andreevna Tolstaya in Tula.

Nº 36 – LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAYA
[PSS 83/72]
27 September 1867. Moscow.

I just got back from Borodino. I’m very, very satisfied with my trip and even with how I managed to get through it, despite a lack of sleep and decent food. If only God will grant me health and peace, I shall describe the Battle of Borodino as it has never been described before. [You would probably say:] “He keeps boasting about it!” When I was spending the night in a monastery, I saw you in a dream, and what I remember from the dream is just as clear as reality, and I think of you with some fear.

I shan’t write about my trip in detail — I’ll tell you [about it upon my return]. The first night I rode 100 versts to Mozhajsk and took a nap in the morning at the station. The second night we stayed overnight in the monastery’s guest house. I rose with the dawn, rode around the [Borodino] Field once more [and then] we spent the rest of the day travelling [back] to Moscow.

I received two letters from you.²²¹ I’m sorry to hear about big Tanja and am frightened, terribly frightened for little Tanja. (I know her and love her and can picture her [in my mind], and am fearful for her with her fever.) But, most importantly, your letters have gladdened my heart because [I see] you in them. And you keep putting the best of yourself into your letters — and into your thoughts about me. But in life that is often muffled by nausea and a sense of conflict. I know that.

I’m borrowing 1000 roubles from Perfil’ev²²² and so, being rich, I shall buy a cap and boots and anything you request. — I know you’re upset that I am borrowing. Don’t get angry; I’m borrowing so that I can be free during this first part of the winter, unencumbered and undisturbed by financial concerns, and with this in mind I plan to save this money as much as I can and keep it only to know that there’s money there to get rid of an unprofitable and superfluous person etc. [I know] you will understand and help me. Your letters, my darling, are a great delight to me, and don’t be so silly as to suggest I might give them [to someone else] to read.

Borodino was a pleasant experience for me. I felt I was doing something worthwhile; but I find [life] in the city unbearable, while you say I like to gad about. I only wish that you loved the countryside and hated the idle vanity of the city even a tenth as much as do I. Tomorrow I’ll go to the Perfil’evs and thank them, and I shall see [the printer] Ris and do some shopping, and if I finish everything and D’jakov is ready, I’ll leave Friday morning [29 September]. Farewell, darling, hugs and kisses to you and the children.

27 [September].