In four years we had suffered five losses in the family. The two aunts
died, in 1874 Tatyana Alexandrovna Ergolskii, and in 1875 Pelageya
Ilinishna Yushkov. Also three of our young children died; I caught
whooping-cough from them, and at the same time became ill with
peritonitis which brought on child-birth prematurely and I was on the
point of death.
Whether these events influenced Leo Nikolaevich or whether there were
other causes, his discontent with life and his seeking for truth became
acute. Everyone knows from his _Confession_ and other works that he even
contemplated hanging himself, when he did not find satisfaction in his
seeking. I could not feel as happy as before, when my husband, though
without saying it frankly, threatened to take his life, as later he
threatened to go away from his family. It was difficult for me to
discover the causes of his despair or to induce myself to believe in
them.{41} Our family lived its normal, good life, but it no longer
satisfied him; he was looking for the meaning of life in something
different; he was seeking for belief in God, he always shuddered at the
thought of death, and he could not find that which might comfort him and
reconcile him with it. At one time he would speak to Count Bobrinsky{42}
of the teaching of Radstock,{43} at another to Prince S. S. Urusov{44}
of the orthodox faith and church, at another with pilgrims and
sectaries, and later with bishops, monks, and priests. But nobody and
nothing satisfied Leo Nikolaevich or put his mind at rest. A spirit
which rejected the existing religions, the progress, science, art,
family, everything which mankind had evolved in centuries, had been
growing stronger and stronger in Leo Nikolaevich, and he was becoming
gloomier and gloomier. It was as though his inner eye was turned only to
evil and suffering, as though all that was joyful, beautiful, and good
had disappeared. I did not know how to live with such views; I was
alarmed, frightened, grieved. But with nine children I could not, like a
weather-cock, turn in the ever changing direction of my husband's
spiritual going away. With him it was a passionate, sincere seeking;
with me it would have been a silly imitation, positively harmful to the
family. Besides, in my innermost heart and beliefs I did not wish to
leave the church to which from my childhood I had always turned in
prayer. Leo Nikolaevich was himself for nearly two years at the
beginning of his seeking extremely orthodox and observed all rituals and
feasts. At the time the family also followed his example. _When_ exactly
we parted from him and over what, I do not know, I cannot remember.
Leo Nikolaevich's denial of the church and orthodoxy had a sharp
contrast in his recognition of the efficacy and wisdom of Christ's
teaching, which he considered incompatible with the doctrine of the
church. Personally I could have no difference with him regarding the
Gospel, since I considered the Gospel to be the foundation of the
orthodox faith.{45} When he accepted Christ's teaching and tried to live
in accordance with the Gospel, Leo Nikolaevich began to suffer through
our apparently luxurious mode of life, which I could not alter. I simply
did not understand why I should alter it, nor could I alter conditions
which had not been created by ourselves. If I had given away all my
fortune at my husband's desire (I don't know to whom), if I had been
left in poverty with nine children, I should have had to work for the
family--to feed, do the sewing for, wash, bring up my children without
education. Leo Nikolaevich, by vocation and inclination, could have done
nothing else but write.{46} He was always rushing off from Moscow to
Yasnaya Polyana; he lived alone there, read, wrote, and thought out his
work. I bore these partings from him with difficulty, but I considered
them necessary for my husband's intellectual work and peace of mind.
In my turn, as I grew older, the external and internal complexity of
life made me look seriously into its demands, and again, as in my early
youth, I turned to philosophy, to the wisdom of the thinkers who had
preceded us. At that time, about 1881 or 1882, Prince Leonid Dmitrievich
Urusov,{47} an intimate friend who often visited us and who was Deputy
Governor of the Tula Province, translated into Russian _The Meditations
of Marcus Aurelius_ and brought us the book to read. The thoughts of
that royal sage produced a great impression on me. Later Prince Urusov
gave me the works of Seneca in a French translation. The brilliant style
and richness of thought in that philosopher so attracted me that I read
his works through twice. I then read in succession various philosophers,
buying their books and copying out the ideas and sayings which struck
me. I remember how impressed I was by Epictetus's thoughts on death. I
found Spinoza very difficult to understand, but I became interested in
his Ethics and especially in his explanation of the conception of God.
Socrates, Plato, and other philosophers, but particularly the Greeks,
enchanted me, and I can say that these sages helped me greatly to live
and to think. Later on I also tried to read modern philosophers; I read
Schopenhauer and others, but I much preferred the ancients. Of Leo
Nikolaevich's philosophical works I liked and understood best his book
_On Life_, and I translated it into French with the assistance of M.
Tastevin. I worked hard at that translation, being particularly ill at
the time and expecting the birth of our last child, Vanichka. While
working conscientiously at the translation, I often went for advice to
my husband and to the philosophers, N. Y. Grot and V. S. Solovev.
I always very much liked writing of whatever kind. When Leo Nikolaevich
was writing his _A. B. C._ and _Four Reading-Books_, he used to intrust
to me the work of making up sentences and of re-telling and translating
them so as to adapt them to the Russian language and customs. I also
wrote the small story _Sparrows_ and others.
On the appearance of _Kreutzer Sonata_, which I never liked, I wrote a
story from the woman's point of view, but I did not publish it. Later on
I wrote a tale, _A Song without Words_. I got the idea for it by seeing
girls at a concert behave strangely to a famous pianist. They kissed
his goloshes, tore his handkerchief to pieces and altogether acted as if
they were mad. What has music to do with all that? I wanted to convey
the idea that our attitude towards art, as towards nature, must be
chaste, _i. e._ pure, without any mixture of base human passions.
When I taught the children, I wrote a Russian grammar from which they
quickly learnt to write correctly. Unfortunately the Russian teacher,
who much approved of my work, lost it.
I used to invent stories to tell to my children, and I wrote some of
them down and later published them with illustrations. In the first
story, _Skeleton Aurelias_, I used an idea of Leo Nikolaevich's. He
began to write the story, but the beginning was lost. Whether it was
lost with his suit-case,{48} or whether it was carried off with the
other MSS., I do not know.{49}
I always regarded my literary work with a certain contempt and irony,
considering it in the nature of a joke. For instance, after reading
various writings of the decadents, I tried to imitate them, and, for a
joke, wrote prose poems under the title _Groans_. They were published,
without my name, and without the author being known, in the _Journal
Dlva Vsvekh_ for March, 1904.
I remember two others of my writings, translations which Leo Nikolaevich
commissioned me to do. One was from the German, _The Teaching of the
Twelve Apostles_,{50} which he afterwards corrected himself, and the
other from English, _On the Sect of the Bahaists_.{51}
I also published various articles in newspapers. The most important
were: my appeal for funds for the famine-stricken on 3 November, 1891;
my letter to the _Metropolitans_ and _Synod_ on Leo Nikolaevich's
excommunication, which had deeply revolted and pained me.{52} I also
published an article, _A Recollection of Turgenev_, in the _Orlovskii
Vyestnik_, a critical article on Andreyev, and others.{53}
If I ever wrote anything of value, it was the seven thick note-books,
under the title _My Life_.{54} In them I described all my long life up
to 1897. When after the death of Leo Nikolaevich I was, quite
illegally, forbidden access to the Historical Museum, where I had placed
for safe keeping all my husband's papers, diaries, letters, note-books,
as well as my own, I could not continue my work without materials, and
three years of my life, which was drawing to a close, were lost to the
work. And who knows better than I the life of Leo Nikolaevich? It was I
myself who in 1894 placed those documents first in the Rumyantsev
Museum, and later during its repair transferred them to the Historical
Museum, where they now lie awaiting the verdict as to their fate from
the courts of law.{55}