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." [1]
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. [2]
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.