The Diaries of Sofia Tolstoy by Cathy Porter Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Cathy Porter
three hours. When he is cheerful, I worry only that this mood will pass and can think of nothing else. Whenever he is away or busy I think of him constantly, listening out for him or watching the expression on his face. Itâs probably because I am pregnant that I am in such an abnormal state; it affects him too I know. Itâs not hard to find work, thereâs plenty to do, but first you have to enjoy breeding hens, tinkling on the piano, reading a lot of fourth-rate books and precious few good ones and pickling cucumbers. I am sure all this will come once Iâve forgotten my idle girlhood ways and grown used to living in the country. I am waiting for that bright day when things run as smoothly as a machine and I can start to live an active life. I am asleep now, nothing brings me excitement or joyâneither the trip to Moscow, nor the thought of the baby. I wish I could take some remedy to wake me up.
I havenât prayed for a long time. Before, I used to love the external aspects of religious ritual. When nobody was looking I would light a wax candle before the icon, put some flowers there, lock the door, kneel on the floor and pray for hours. It seems silly and ridiculous,but I love remembering it. My life is so serious now. Over the next few years I shall make myself a serious female world, and love it even more than the old one because it will contain my husband and my children, whom one loves more than oneâs parents and brothers and sisters. But I havenât settled down yet. I still swing between my past and my future. My husband loves me too much to tell me how to live my life; besides, itâs difficult, itâs something I must work out for myself. He too feels I have changed. With patience I shall be as I used to be, although no longer a young girl but a woman; I shall wake up then, and both of us will be happy.
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23rd November . He disgusts me with his talk of the âpeopleâ. I feel itâs either me, representing his family, or the people, whom he loves so passionately. If this is selfish, so be it. I live through him and want him to live for me, otherwise I feel suffocated in this place. Today I ran out of the house because everyone and everything disgusted meâAuntie,* his peasant students, the walls, life. I slipped out and ran off alone, and wanted to laugh and shout for joy. L. no longer disgusted me, but I suddenly realized how far apart we were: his âpeopleâ could never absorb all my attention, and I could never fully absorb his as he does mine. If I donât interest him, if he sees me as a doll, merely his wife , not a human being, then I will not and cannot live like that.* Of course I am idle at present, but I am not so by nature; I simply havenât discovered anything I can do. He gets angry. Let him, I feel happy and free today because I am on my own, and although he has been very morose he has left me alone, thank God. I know he has a brilliant mind, he is poetic and intelligent and has many talents, but it makes me angry that he sees only the gloomy side of things. He has been so gloomy these days I could have wept. He wonât talk to me. Itâs terrible to live with himâheâll get carried away by his love for the common people again and I shall be done for, because he loves me merely as he used to love his school, nature, the people, maybe his writing, all of which he loved a little, one after the other, until it was time for something new. Aunt came in and asked why I had run out and where I had been, and I wanted to needle her and said I was escaping from the students, for she always defends them. But it wasnât true. Iâm not the least bit angry with the students, itâs only old habit that makes me grumble and complain like this. I went out simply because I was bored with doing nothing. I shall go and play the piano now. He is in the bath. He is a stranger to me today.
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16th December . One of these
I havenât prayed for a long time. Before, I used to love the external aspects of religious ritual. When nobody was looking I would light a wax candle before the icon, put some flowers there, lock the door, kneel on the floor and pray for hours. It seems silly and ridiculous,but I love remembering it. My life is so serious now. Over the next few years I shall make myself a serious female world, and love it even more than the old one because it will contain my husband and my children, whom one loves more than oneâs parents and brothers and sisters. But I havenât settled down yet. I still swing between my past and my future. My husband loves me too much to tell me how to live my life; besides, itâs difficult, itâs something I must work out for myself. He too feels I have changed. With patience I shall be as I used to be, although no longer a young girl but a woman; I shall wake up then, and both of us will be happy.
Â
23rd November . He disgusts me with his talk of the âpeopleâ. I feel itâs either me, representing his family, or the people, whom he loves so passionately. If this is selfish, so be it. I live through him and want him to live for me, otherwise I feel suffocated in this place. Today I ran out of the house because everyone and everything disgusted meâAuntie,* his peasant students, the walls, life. I slipped out and ran off alone, and wanted to laugh and shout for joy. L. no longer disgusted me, but I suddenly realized how far apart we were: his âpeopleâ could never absorb all my attention, and I could never fully absorb his as he does mine. If I donât interest him, if he sees me as a doll, merely his wife , not a human being, then I will not and cannot live like that.* Of course I am idle at present, but I am not so by nature; I simply havenât discovered anything I can do. He gets angry. Let him, I feel happy and free today because I am on my own, and although he has been very morose he has left me alone, thank God. I know he has a brilliant mind, he is poetic and intelligent and has many talents, but it makes me angry that he sees only the gloomy side of things. He has been so gloomy these days I could have wept. He wonât talk to me. Itâs terrible to live with himâheâll get carried away by his love for the common people again and I shall be done for, because he loves me merely as he used to love his school, nature, the people, maybe his writing, all of which he loved a little, one after the other, until it was time for something new. Aunt came in and asked why I had run out and where I had been, and I wanted to needle her and said I was escaping from the students, for she always defends them. But it wasnât true. Iâm not the least bit angry with the students, itâs only old habit that makes me grumble and complain like this. I went out simply because I was bored with doing nothing. I shall go and play the piano now. He is in the bath. He is a stranger to me today.
Â
16th December . One of these