The Diaries of Sofia Tolstoy by Cathy Porter Page A

don’t know where I would find the right people to ask, and besides I don’t like them. But if he wants me to I’ll entertain whomever he cares to invite; anything to keep him happy and not bored, for then he’ll love me and there’s nothing else I want.
    I waited and waited for him and have now sat down again to write. Some people live in solitude, but it’s terrible to be alone. I don’t suppose we shall go to that lecture now. Perhaps I annoyed him. This thought often torments me. I have grown terribly close to Maman and it frightens me, for we can never live together now.
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    29th January . Kremlin life is oppressive; it evokes the lazy, aimless life I led here as a girl. All my illusions about the aims and duties of marriage vanished into thin air when Lyovochka let me know that one can’t be satisfied merely with one’s family, one’s husband or wife, but needs something more, a larger cause. (“ I need nothing butyou. Lyovochka talks a lot of nonsense sometimes .” [L.N. Tolstoy’s note])
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    3rd March (Yasnaya Polyana) . Still the same old story—writing on my own. But I’m not lonely now, I’m used to it. And happy in the knowledge that he loves me, and loves me constantly. When he gets home he comes up to me so kindly and asks me or tells me something. My life is cheerful and easy now. I read his diary and it made me happy.* There is me and his work—nothing else matters to him. Yesterday and today he has been preoccupied. I am afraid to disturb him when he is writing, and that he’ll get angry and my presence will be unbearable to him. I’m glad he’s writing. I wanted to go to church this morning, but instead I stayed at home and prayed here. Since my marriage every form of ceremony has become loathsome to me. I long with all my heart to manage the household and do something. But I haven’t yet learnt how, I don’t know how to go about it. It will come in time.
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    1st April . I am unwell and in low spirits. Lyova has gone off again. My misfortune is that I have no inner resources to draw on, and this is indeed necessary and important in life. The weather is wonderful, it’s almost summer, and my mood is like the summer—sad. It’s bleak and lonely here. He has his work and the estate to think about while I have nothing…What am I good for? I can’t go on living like this. I would like to do more, something real . At this wonderful time of year I always used to long for things, aspire to things, dream about God knows what. But I no longer have these foolish aspirations, for I know I have all I need now and there’s nothing left to strive for. So much happiness and so little to do.
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    6th April . We have started attending to the estate together, he and I, him taking it all very seriously, me so far pretending to. But it interests me greatly. He seems preoccupied and unwell, and this makes me anxious. I’m afraid to let him know how much these blood rushes of his worry me. It’s a terrible thought, but I can’t help worrying that this life of ours and our happiness together is not real happiness at all but just a trick of fate, and will suddenly be snatched away. I’m afraid…It’s stupid, but I cannot write it down. I wish this fear would pass quickly, for it poisons my life. He has bought some bees, which pleases me very much; managing the estate is interesting, but hard work. He certainly has something on his mind; he’s being sounstraightfoward and secretive. Or is it just a headache? What’s the matter with him? What does he want? I would do anything he wanted if only I could. He is out now, but I fear when he comes back he’ll be in a bad temper and will find something to irritate him. I love him desperately, I feel I could endure anything for his sake if I had to.
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    10th April . He has gone to meet Papa in Tula and I already feel miserable. I have