Leo Tolstoy: His Life and Work/Chapter 16

Notwithstanding the apparent success of his educational work, Tolstoy could not be entirely satisfied with it; however grand the building which he had so cleverly planned, he was not sure of the firmness of its foundation. For him, this foundation was non- existent. His analytical brain prevented him from resting on unstable foundations, and a really firm one he had not found. This dissatisfaction was expressed in his "Confession" in the following words in reference to this period:

[Tolstoy writes] I believed that I had found a solution abroad, and armed with that conviction, I returned to Russia the same year in which the peasants were freed from serfdom, and accepting the office of a country magistrate or arbitrator, I began to teach the uneducated people in the schools, and the educated classes by means of the journals which I published. Things seemed to be going on well, but I felt that my mind was not in a normal state, and that a change was near. I might then perhaps have come to that state of absolute despair to which I brought fifteen years later, if it had not been for a new experience in life which promised me safety -- the home life of a family man. For a year I occupied myself with my duties as a arbitrator, with the schools, and with my newspaper, and my work became so involved that I was harassed to death; my arbitration was one continual struggle; what to do in the schools became less and less clear, and my newspaper shuffling more and more repugnant to me. It was always the same thing, trying to teach without knowing how or what. So that I fell ill, more with mental than physical sickness, gave up everything, and started for the steppes to breathe a fresher air, to drink mare's milk and live a mere animal life.

Soon after my return, I married. The following incident in the life of Tolstoy took place about the same time: Still a passionate gambler, he often fell victim to his own excesses. thus in the beginning of 1862, tolstoy lost 1,000 rubles in a game of billiards to Katkov, the well-known publicist and editor of "Moscow News." He was unable to meet this debt and in lieu of payment gave his unfinished novel "The Cossacks" to be printed in the magazine, the "Russian Messenger", published by Katkov himself. It appeared in January 1863 in its unfinished shape, and in consequence of disagreeable recollections connected with it, Tolstoy gave it up and never finished the story. Being informed of this incident by Botkin, Turgenev wrote about it to Fet:

[Turgenev writes] Tolstoy has written to Botkin that he played against luck in Moscow and got from Katkov 1,000 rubles as a deposit for his Caucasian novel. May God grant he returns to his true work, if even in this manner. His "Childhood" and "Youth" have appeared in an    English translation, and it seems they are popular. I    asked a friend of mine to write an article on it in the "Revue des Deux Mondes". One ought to have intercourse with the people, but to long for it like a woman who is    enceinte is ridiculous.

At that time Tolstoy used very often to visit the house of Dr. Bers, with whom he was to be more closely connected by family ties.

We were still little girls [said the Countess Tolstaya to the biographer Loewenfeld] when Tolstoy first visited our house. He was then already a well-known writer and lived in Moscow in a gay, noisy style. One day Tolstoy rushed into our room and joyfully informed us    that he had just sold his "Cossacks" to Katkov for a     thousand rubles. We thought the price very low. Then he    explained that he had to do it; that he had lost that sum of money at a game of "China billiards," and that it was for him a matter of honor to settle the debt immediately. He intended to write the second part of "The Cossacks," he has never done it. His news so much upset us little girls that we cried, walking up and down the room.

About this time, Tolstoy again became friendly with Fet, the estrangement from whom had been the result of the quarrel with Turgenev. Of this renewal of their friendly relations, Fet speak thus:

[Fet writes] If my memory -- which keeps correctly not only events of importance in my life, but even the precise words used on any odd occasion -- did not retain the circumstances of our reconciliation with Tolstoy after his ill-tempered postscript, it only proves that his anger against me was like a hailstorm in July, which was bound to melt by itself. Yet I suppose it did not occur without Borisov's help. However this may be, Tolstoy again appeared on our horizon and with the enthusiasm peculiar to him began to speak of his friendship with the family of Dr. Bers.

Having accepted the offer of the Count to introduce me to the Bers family, I met the doctor, a polite and well-mannered old man, and a beautiful, distinguished looking brunette, his wife, who was evidently the ruler of the household. I refrain from describing the three young ladies, the youngest of whom possessed a beautiful contralto voice. Notwithstanding the careful supervision of their mother and their perfect modesty, they all possessed the charm which the French call du chien. The dinner table and the dinner of the domineering hostess were irreproachable."

Of the attitude of Tolstoy to the bers family and his gradual preparation for the marriage we learn from a private letter of Tolstoy's sister-in-law:

[Tatyana Bers writes] His relations with our house are of long standing: our grandfather Islenev and Tolstoy's father were neighboring landowners as well as    friends. Their families had been in constant communication, and it is through this that my mother and Tolstoy were like sister and brother in their childhood. He used to call on us when he was an officer. My mother was then already married and on very friendly terms with Tolstoy's sister, and at her house as a child I often met Tolstoy. He used to get up all sorts of games with his nieces and myself. I was about ten at that time, and I    have but little recollection of him. When he returned from abroad in the year of his marriage, he had not seen us for several years, and coming to Pokrovskoye (near    Moscow), he found my two elder sisters already grown up. He brought with him a teacher, Keller, from aborad, and engaged a few more teachers in Moscow for his school, which occupied his attention very much.

He almost always came on foot to Pokrovskoye (12    versts). We went out with him for long walks. He took great interest in our life and became very intimate with us. Once we -- my mother and we three sisters -- went for a fortnight to grandfather's country place in the province of Tula, of course driving, and he joined our company. On the way we called at Yasnaya Polyana. He    lived with his aunt Tatyana Aleksandrovna Yergolskaya and his sister Marie, who were the ladies that my mother stopped with. The next day a picnic was arranged at    Yasnaya Polyana, in the coppice, with the families of     Auerbach and Markov. Haymaking was going on in the abatis, and we all climbed up a haystack. After this, Tolstoy followed us to "Tvitzi," my grandfather's    property, and there, at the card-table, occurred the declaration in "primary letters," as described in "Anna    Karenina." In September we moved to Moscow, where he too followed, and on the 17th of the month the intended wedding was made known in Moscow. During the whole of    his stay in Moscow he was everywhere and always lively, gay, and witty -- he was like a volcano throwing out sacred sparks and fire. I remember him often at the piano; he would bring music, rehearsed the cherubic song of Bornianskiy with us, and many other songs. He    accompanied me every day and called me Mme. Viardot, urging me to be always singing.

This is how Countess Tolstaya herself tells about her wedding, in a conversation with Loewenfeld. We amplify and correct the narrative which we heard from the Countess:

[Sonya Tolstaya says] The Count visited our house constantly at that time. We thought he was courting our elder sister, and my father was perfectly sure of it     down to the last minute, when Tolstoy asked him for my     hand. This was in 1862. We went with our mother in    August to visit our grandfather via Yasnaya Polyana. My    mother wanted to call on tolstoy's sister, and we, the three sisters and our younger brother, therefore remained for a few days there. Nobody was astonished at the Count's attention to us, our acquaintance being, as I    have told you, of long standing, and the Count had always been very kind to us. "Tvitzi," our grandfather's    property, or rather that of his wife, nee Isleneva -- for his own land he lost by card-playing -- was fifty versts from Yasnaya Polyana. A few days later Tolstoy arrived and, in a word, here took place a scene similar to that described in "Anna Karenina," when Levin made his love declaration in "primary letters," and Kitty guessed it at    once. Up to the present, said the Countess with a smile, proving that the mere recollection of it caused her pleasure, I cannot understand how I made out the meaning of the letters then. It must be true that souls attuned to one another give out the same sound even as do equally tuned chords."

The sentence exchanged by Tolstoy and the lady who became his wife, which had been written only in primary letters, were the following:

I. y. f. e. a. f. i. a. t. m. a. y. s. L. Y. a. T. m. d.     i.  This meant:  "In your family exists a false idea as     to me and your sister Liza.  You and Tanichka must     destroy it."

The Countess guessed the sentence and nodded affirmatively. Then he wrote:

Y. y. a. d. f. h. r. m. t. v. o. m. a. a. a. t. i. o.    h., which meant:  "Your youth and desire for happiness     remind me too vividly of my advanced age and the     impossibility of happiness." Nothing more was said between them, but they understood and were sure of one another. They went to Moscow, whither Tolstoy followed them. He lived in town, and the family of bers were generally in Pokrovskoye- Glebovo, twelve versts from Moscow, where they had lived every summer for twenty years. Tolstoy was their daily visitor. All in the house were perfectly sure that he was going to propose to the elder daughter. But on September 17th [1862], the Saint's Day of Sofya Andreyevna, Tolstoy handed her a letter in which he made her a proposal of marriage. Of course this was joyfully accepted by her; but her father was displeased; he did not like to give the younger daughter in marriage before the elder one, as it was against old customs, and he at first refused his consent. But the persistence of Tolstoy and the firmness of Sofya Andreyevna induced him to yield. In Tolstoy's diary we find the following vivid reflections of these events. After one of the visits to the family Bers, he wrote down on August 23rd [1862]:

[Tolstoy writes] I am afraid of myself. What if it    is only the desire to love, but not love? I try to look only at her weak side, and yet I love.

At the same time he felt the loneliness of his public life.

[Tolstoy writes] I got up in good health, with an    especially clear head; my writing came easily, but the subject matter is poor. Then I felt so sad as I have not for long. I have no friends, none. I am alone. There were friends when I served Mammon, and there are none when I serve the truth."

At last, on August 26th [1862] he wrote:

[Tolstoy writes] I went to the Bers's at Pokrovskoye on foot. I felt at peace, comfortable. Sonya gave me a    story to read. What energy of truth and simplicity! She is troubled with its indefiniteness. I read it all without agitation, without any symptoms of jealousy or    envy, but the words "of excessively unattractive     appearance and inconstancy of views" hit me splendidly. I consoled myself by the thought that it was not about me.

Unfortunately this story was never given to the world; it was destroyed by the author. On August 28th [1862], his birthday, when he was thirty-four years old, we once more see in his diary marks of hesitation, self- accusation, and a struggle.

[Tolstoy writes] I got up in the usual sadness. I    have planned a society for apprentices. A sweet, quieting night. You ugly face, don't think of marriage; your calling is of another kind, and much has been given for it.

But want of family happiness got the upper hand, and the desire of love turned at last into real passionate love, which knew no bars whatever. And yet notwithstanding the power of this passion, Tolstoy here too displayed his honesty and love of truth. After having already made his proposal and been accepted, he handed to his betrothed all the diaries of his bachelor days, with all his expressions of self-reproach and his perfectly sincere description of his youthful escapades, and the excesses and moral conflicts which he had gone through. The reading of the diary was blow which caused deep suffering to the young girl, who had seen in her hero the ideal of all virtues. The suffering was so great and the struggle she went through so hard that at times she hesitated and wondered whether she should not sever the link. But love swept away all hesitation, and after nights of weeping she returned him his diary with a look in which he read forgiveness and a stronger and still more courageous love than before. The wedding was fixed for a very early date, the end of the week following the formal proposal -- September 23rd [1862]. The marriage took place at the Kremlin in the Court church, and immediately after it the newly married couple drove away in a dormeuse to Yasnaya Polyana, where they were met by Tolstoy's brother and his aunt tatyana Aleksandrovna. The brother of Countess Tolstaya, S. A. bers, in his reminiscences thus describes his sister.

[S. A. Bers (Sonya's brother) writes] My late father did not approve of schools for girls, so that Tolstoy's    wife was brought up at home, but she went through an     examination and received the diploma of a teacher. While a girl she kept her diary, tried to write stories, and showed some talent for painting.

Soon after his marriage, Tolstoy wrote to Fet:

[Tolstoy writes] Fetoushka, Dear Old Fellow -- I    have been married for two weeks and am happy and a new, quite new man. I wished to come to see you, but I cannot manage it. When shall I see you? Having come to myself, I value you very much indeed, and there is between us too much in common and unforgettable -- Nikolenka and much besides. Come to make my acquaintance. I kiss Marya Petrovna's hands. Goodby dear friend. I embrace you with all my heart. [A. Fet, "My Reminiscences"]

With his marriage, Tolstoy entered upon a new phase of life, the family phase, "yet unknown to him, but promising salvation," as he says in his "Confession". We shall see in our further narrative how far these expectations of Tolstoy were justified. The spirit of analysis did not spare even this harbor of salvation and destroyed this allusion also. But all-powerful reason lifted him a step higher. In the next volume we hope to peep into this mysterious process so far as is possible. During this period Tolstoy wrote, besides those already mentioned, the following books: The Snowstorm; The Recollections of a billiard-Marker; Two Hussars; Family Happiness; and Polikushka; and he also began a new story entitled The Cloth- Measurer. "The Snowstorm" presents a winter landscape. While reading it, you not only see before you the storm, the snowbound road and the wandering drivers with their vehicles, but you hear all the sounds of the storm, and feel in the elements a kind of soft, evanescent life. In the "Recollections of a Billiard-Marker" is presented a pure, sweet, human soul gradually lost in the midst of town debauchery. In "Two Hussars" are pictured two generations: the old, which indulged in all kinds of excesses but which at the same time was unsophisticated and sincere, and therefore lived in harmony with nature; and beside it the young generation -- viciously cautious, calculating, and hypocritical. The harmony of nature is broken, and the harmony of consciousness not yet found, and the soul, depraved by vice, sounds with horrible discord. "Family Happiness" is a quiet, touching story of family affection and the author's experience. "Polikushka" -- a tragedy of serfdom, the trifling of the sentimental gentry with the peasant's soul, which possesses hidden under its coarse appearance the finest moral traits that break at the mere touch of the perverted and decadent nobility. The critics of the 1860s paid very little attention to these remarkable works. They looked for a certain public standard and had not enough sensibility to perceive the higher moral beauty with which these works were imbued. The silence of the critics induced one of them to write an article entitled "The Phenomena of Contemporary Literature Passed Over By Our Critics. Count Tolstoy and His Works." We consider it out of place to enter into detailed criticism of these works, and we mention them only as facts, proving the unceasing inner creative work of Tolstoy.