The Diary of Tolstoy's Wife

[By arrangement with Victor Gollancz, Ltd., who will publish the complete book on November 20th, we are able to publish a series of extracts from " The Diary of Tolstoy's Wife," which hare been translated by Alexander Werth. The Russian text was first published at Moscow in September of this year, and the information it contained has not previously been made public. This week we are publishing entries from a retrospective account of her engagement and marriage in 1862, when Tolstoy was thirty-four years old, written two years after he died.—En.,

SPECTATOR.]

AT the beginning of August, 1862, my two sisters and I were overjoyed to hear that Mother had decided to go by Annen- kov's coach to her father's estate, and to take Volodya, our little brother, and the three of us with her.

At this time our grandfather, Alexander Mildiailovich Islenyev (the " papa " of Lev Nikolaevich's Childhood) lived on his Ivitsy estate in the Odoevsky district. Ivitsy was the last remnant of what had once been a large fortune, and even it had been bought in the name of his second wife, my mother's stepmother, Sophie Alexandrovna, née Zhdanov —the woman who figures in Lev Nikolaevich's Childhood as la belle Flamande.

We drove to Yasnaya Polyana. It was already late, but the evening was glorious. The main road, which passes through the Zaseka forest, is so picturesque, and the scenery so vast and spacious, that it seemed to us, city girls that we were, like a piece of primitive nature.

Maria Nikolaevna and Lev Nikolaevich (Tolstoy) greeted us in a most boisterous manner, Aunt Tatiana Alexandrovna Ergolsky, a reserved but pleasant woman, greeted us in cordially-polite French fashion, and her companion, old Nathalie Petrovna, silently stroked me on the shoulder and winked cheerfully at Tanya, my younger sister, who was then only fifteen.

We were given a large vaulted room on the ground floor, modestly and even poorly furnished. There were white- painted sofas against the walls, with hard backs and seats covered with striped blue-and-white canvas, and there was also a chaise-longue, painted and upholstered in the same way. The table was of rough birch-wood, made by the local cabinet- maker. There were large iron rings hanging from the ceiling, which in the old days were used for holding saddles, hams, &c. This room had been a store-room in the days of Prince Volkonsky, Lev Nikolaevich's grandfather. * * * * As it was growing dark, Mother sent me down to unpack the luggage, and to get the beds ready. Dunyasha (Auntie's maid) and I were preparing the beds, when Lev Nikolaevich suddenly walked into the room. Dunyasha told him that she had arranged three beds on the sofas, but that there was no room for a fourth one.

" Why not try the armchair ? " said Lev Nikolacvich, and clumsily began to unfold a sheet. I felt a little embarrassed, but at the same time there was something nice and intimate in the way in which he helped us to arrange the beds.

When everything was ready, we went upstairs and found Tanya rolled up on the little sofa in Auntie's room, fast asleep. Volodya also had been put to bed. Mother was talking of the old days to Maria Nikolaevna and Auntie. Lisa looked questioningly at us. I can clearly remember every moment of that evening.

In the dining-room, with its big Italian window, Alexey Stepanovich, the little squint-eyed butler, was laying the table for supper. Dunyasha, a majestic, handsome girl (the (laughter of old Nicholas of Childhood fame) helped him in arranging the table. The door in the middle of the wall was open, and led into a little drawing-room with an antique rosewood clavichord, and the drawing-room door, with the same kind of Italian window, led on to a little balcony. This balcony had a charming view which I have loved all my life. It gives me joy to this day.

I took a chair, and, going out on to the balcony, I admired the sight. I shall never forget the emotions I felt that evening, though I shall never be able to describe them. Was it the effect of the country, of •nature, of this feeling of spaciousness ? Was it a_presentiment of what was to happen six weeks later,

when I became the mistress of this house Y Was it simply a farewell to the free days of girlhood ? I cannot tell. But there was something new and significant in my mood that evening, something rapturous and hitherto inexperienced. Everybody assembled for supper. Lev Nikolaevich came to call me, too.

" No, thank you, I don't want to eat," I said ; " it's so fine out here."

From the dining-room I could hear the unnatural, playful voice of my sister Tanya—a spoilt child, and always expecting to be spoilt. Lev Nikolaevich returned to the dining-room, but, before finishing his supper, he came back to the balcony. I can't remember exactly what we talked about ; I only remember how he said to me, " How serene and simple you are." I liked that very much.

I slept well in the long armchair which Lev Nikolaevich had prepared for me. At first I tossed about for a little, for the two arms made it a little narrow and uncomfortable ; but my heart was full of joy and laughter as I thought of Lev Niko- laevich preparing my bed for me, and I soon fell asleep, with a new feeling of joy in my whole youthful being.

My awakening the next morning was joyful. I longed to run round the place, to look at everything, to talk to every- body. How alive and airy everything seemed in Yasnaya Polyana, even in those days ! Lev Nikolaevich did every- thing to keep us amused, and Maria Nikolaevna supported him in every way. Lev Nikolaevich ordered a carriage with two horses, and had the grey Belogubka harnessed with an old-fashioned lady's saddle. A very fine white horse was saddled for him, too, and we began to get ready for the picnic.

Some other visitors arrived—Mme. Gromov, the wife of a Tula architect, and Sonya Bergholz, a niece of Julia Feodor- ovna Auerbach, the head mistress of the girls' high school in Tula. Maria Nikolaevna, who was happy to have her two best friends—my mother and Mme. Gromov—with her, was in a particularly playful and happy mood ; she joked and laughed and kept us all cheerful. Lev Nikolaevich asked me if I would ride Belogubka, which I was very anxious to do.

" Yes, but I haven't a riding habit," said I, looking at my yellow dress with its black velvet belt and buttons.

" That doesn't matter," said Lev Nikolaevich, with a smile. " This isn't a suburb ; no one except the trees of the wood will see you," he added, helping me into the saddle.

No one could have been happier than me as I galloped beside Lev Nikolaevich, along the road leading to the Zaseka wood, our first stopping-place ; in those days it was still all forest. When, later on, I drove to these places, they never again seemed quite the same to me. That morning everything was different ; it all seemed full of magic, as it never does in ordinary life, but only in certain moods of spiritual exaltation. We came to a little meadow with a haystack in the middle. In later years, Tanya's family and my own had many a picnic in that meadow, but it was quite different then, and I looked at it with different eyes.

* * * * The day following our arrival in Ivitsy, Lev Nikolaevich turned up unexpectedly on his white horse. He had done forty miles, but was full of vigour and joyful excitement. My grandfather, who was fond of Lev Nikolaevich, and of the whole Tolstoy family in general—for he had been a friend of Count Nicholas Ilyich—greeted Lev Nikolaevich in the most affectionate manner. There were rather a lot of visitors. After the day's excursion, the young people arranged to have a dance at night. There were some officers among them, some young squires from the neighbourhood, and a lot of young ladies and girls. To us they were a crowd of strangers. What did it matter ? It was very jolly, and that was the main thing. Different people took their turn at the piano.

" How smart you all are ! " Lev Nikolaevich remarked, looking at my white-and-mauve dress, with its lilac ribbons falling from the shoulders—a fashion known in those days as suivez-moi. " It's a pity Auntie isn't here to see how smart you can, look," he said, with a smile.

" Aren't you dancing ? " I asked.

" Oh, no ; I'm far too old for that."

During the evening some elderly men and ladies had been playing cards at two tables. These tables, with the candles still burning, were left open even after all the visitors were gone. We stayed on in the drawing-mom for some time, listening to Lev Nikolaevich's lively talk. But Mother thought we ought to go to bed, and told us firmly to do so. We did not dare disobey her. But, as I was about to leave the room, Lev Nikolaevich suddenly called me :

" Wait a minute, Sophie Andreyevna I ".

" What's the matter ? "

" Try to read what I'll write."

" Very well," said I.

" But I shall only write the initials."

" How's that ? But that'll be impossible ! Well, go on ! "

Lev Nikolaevich brushed the game scores off the card-table, and, taking a bit of chalk, began to write. We were both very solemn and excited. I watched his large red hand, and felt how all my thoughts and feelings were concentrated on the piece of chalk and on the hand that was holding it. We were both silent.

" Y. y. & y. d. f. h. r. m. t. v. o. m. o. a. & o. m. f. h."

" Your youth and your desire for happiness remind me too vividly of my old age and of my incapacity for happiness," I read out.

My heart began to throb violently, my face was flushed, and I seemed to have suddenly lost all sense of time and reality ; I felt as though at that moment I could grasp every- thing, conceive the inconceivable.

" Well, let's try again," said Lev Nikolaevich, and wrote :— " Y. f. h. f. i. a. m. & y. s. L. W. y. & y. s. T. p. m."

" Your family have false ideas about me and your sister Lisa. Won't you and your sister Tanya protect me ? " I read out rapidly, without hesitating for a second. Lev Nikolaevich wasn't even surprised ; it somehow seemed perfectly natural. Our state of mind was so tense and exalted that nothing seemed to surprise us.

I heard Mother's peevish voice telling me to go to bed. We said good-night hastily, put out the lights, and departed. Behind the cupboard upstairs I lighted a candle-end and, sitting on the floor, with my note-book on the wooden chair in front of me, I started writing my diary.

I at once wrote down the sentences of which Lev Nikolaevich had given me the initials, and suddenly felt that something serious'and important had taken place between us—something that wouldn't stop there. But for various reasons I checked my thoughts on the subject. It was as though I was locking up for a while all that had happened during that evening.

* * * * We sent to Tula for a large Annensky coach (named thus after the _owner's name). There were four seats inside and two at the back, the latter resembling those of a two-wheeler with a hood. My sisters and I were leaving Yasnaya with many regrets. We said good-bye to Auntie and Nathalie Petrovna, and went to look for Lev Nikolaevich to take leave of him, too.

" I am going with you," he said simply and cheerfully. " How can I stay in Yasnaya pow ? It'll be so dull and lonely."

Without realizing why, I suddenly began to feel so happy, I ran to announce the news to my mother and sisters. It was decided that Lev Nikolaevich would travel all the way outside, while Lisa and I would take the other outside seat in turns.

And so we drove on and on. . . . In the evening I began to feel chilly, and wrapped myself up in my cloak, and a feeling of quiet happiness overcame me as I sat there beside the old friend of my family, the beloved author of Childhood, who now seemed more kind- and friendly than ever. He kept tel- ling me lovely long stories of the Caucasus, of his life there, of the beauty of its mountains, of its primitive nature, and of his own exploits, I felt so happy, listening to his calm, even slightly hoarse voice, which sounded so tender, as though it were coming from a distance. I would fall asleep for a moment, but, starting up, I would again hear the same voice continuing its poetic Caucasian story. I was ashamed of my sleepiness, but I was so young then, and, although it was a pity to miss any of Lev Nikolaevich's stories, I was at times unable to overcome my weariness. We travelled all night. Inside the coach everybody was asleep, and only now and then Mother and Maria would exchange a few words, or little Volodya would cry in his sleep.

At last we reached the outskirts of Moscow, and it was once again my turn to sit outside next to Lev Nikolaevich. At the last halt Lisa came up to me and begged me to let her ride outside.

" Sonya, if you don't mind—will you let me have the outside seat ? It's so stuffy inside the coach ! " she said. We came out of the waiting-room and I took my seat inside the coach. • "-Sophie Andreyevna ! Lev Nikolaevich cried, " it's your turn now to sit outside."

" I know, but I'm cold," said I elusively. And the carriage door closed with a thump.

Lev Nikolaevich stood there for a moment with a thoughtful air, and then climbed up to his seat.

The next day Maria Nikolaevna went abroad, and we returned to our country house at Pokrovskoye, where my father and brothers were expecting us.

* * * * Having followed us to Moscow from Yasnaya Polyana, Lev Nikolaevich took a room at some German shoemaker's house and settled down there. In those days he was busy with his Yasnaya Polyana school and with a magazine called Yasnaya Polyana, an educational kind of paper, meant to be used in peasant schools. It only lasted for a year. Lev Nikolaevich came to Pokrovskoye nearly every day to see us. Sometimes my father, who often went to Moscow in con- nexion with his duties, would bring him back with him. One day Lev Nficolaevich told us that he had called at the Peter Park Palace and had handed the A.D.C. on duty a letter to the Emperor Alexander II regarding the insult he had suffered through the search made by the gendarmerie at Yasnaya Polyana. He told us this on August 23rd, 1862. The Emperor was then staying at the Peter Palace in Moscow in connexion with the Khodynka manoeuvres.

Lev Nikolaevich and I often went for walks and talked a great deal ; and once he asked me if I kept a diary. I told him I had kept one ever since I was eleven, and that I had also written a long story last summer, when I was sixteen.

" Let me read your diaries," Lev Nikolaevich asked.

" No, I can't."

" Well, let me see the story, then."

This I gave him. The next morning I asked hiin whether he had read it. He said calmly and indifferently that he had glanced through it. Later on I read in his diary the following entry about my story She let:me read her story. What a powerful sense of truth and simplicity ! " And he later also told me that he hadn't slept that night and had felt very much excited about my reflections on one of the characters (Prince Dublitsky), in whom he had recognized himself and of whom I had said : " The Prince had a remarkably attractive appear- ance, but his views were inconstant."

We were once, I remember, in a particularly merry and playful mood, and I kept on 'repeating the same silly remark : " When I become Empress, I'll do this or that," or " When become Empress, I'll order this or that." My father's empty cabriolet was standing near the balcony at that time. The horse had just been taken to the stable. I jumped into the carriage and cried : " When I become Empress, I'll drive about in this kind of cabriolet."

One day, in-a state of great excitement, I ran upstairs to our room with its Italian window, from which I could see the pond, the church, and all the things I had loved since my earliest days (I was born at Polcrovskoye), and as I stood at the window my heart beat violently, Tanya came in, and at once realized hoiv restless I was.

" What's the matter, SOnya ? " she asked sympathetically. " Je train d'aimer le Comte," said I in a calm and dry tone of voice. " No ? Really " she said in surprise--for • she had never suspected it. She even grew quite sad, for she

knew. my temperament.

Never, indeed, throughout my life, has aimer meant an emotional game to me, but always something very much akin to suffering.

(A further extract from the diaries of Countess Tolstoy unll appear next week and in the three following weeke).