27 Oct. 1910. I got up very early. All night I had bad dreams. The
difficulty of our relation is constantly increasing.
28 Oct. 1910. I went to bed at half past eleven. Slept till two. I woke,
and again as on other nights heard steps and the opening of doors. On
previous nights I did not look out of my door; now I looked and saw
through a chink a bright light in my study and heard rustling. It is
Sophie A. searching for something and probably reading my papers.
Yesterday she asked, indeed demanded, that I should not shut the door.
Both her doors are open, so that my least movement is audible to her.
Both during the day and during the night all my movements and words must
be known to her and be under her control.
Again steps, a cautious opening of the door, and she passes by.
I do not know why this has roused in me such overpowering repulsion and
indignation. I wanted to fall asleep, but could not, tossed about for an
hour, lit the candle, and sat down.
The door opens and in comes S. A. asking about "my health," and
surprised at seeing a light in my room.
The repulsion and indignation are growing. I am choking. I count my
pulse: 97. I cannot lie down; and I suddenly come to a final decision to
go.
I write a letter to her, and begin to pack only what things are needed
for the journey. I wake Dushan[R] then Sasha[S] they help me with the
packing. It is night, pitch dark, I lose my way to the ledge; get into
the wood; I am pricked by the branches; knocked against the trees; fall;
lose my hat; cannot find it; get out with difficulty; walk home; take my
cap; and with a lantern go to the stable, give an order to harness the
horses. Sasha, Dushan, Varya[T] come there. I tremble, expecting that S.
A. T. will pursue me.
But we leave. In Schekino we wait an hour for the train, and every
minute I expect her to appear. But now we are in the train; we start.
The fear passes. And pity for her rises in me, but no doubt at all but
that I have done what I ought to do. Perhaps I am wrong to justify
myself, but I believe that I am saving myself--not Leo N. T., but that
which at times exists, though ever so feebly, in me....
29. Oct. 1910. Shamardino.... On the journey I have been thinking all
the time about a way of escape from her and from my situation, but could
think of none. But surely there will be some way, whether one likes it
or not; it will come, but not in any way that one can foresee. What has
to happen will happen. It is not my business. I got at Mashenka's 'the
_Krug Chtenia_' and reading the quotation for the 28th, I was at once
struck by the reply which seemed to be given purposely to refer to my
situation. I need a trial; it is good for me....