1856
Early in 1856 Tolstoy's third brother, Demetrius, died in Orél. His history has been told in Chapter II. Tolstoy says: 'I was particularly horrid at that time. I went to Orél from Petersburg, where I frequented society and was filled with conceit. I felt sorry for Mítenka, but not very sorry. I paid him a hurried visit, but did not stay at Orél, and my brother died a few days after I left.' On 2nd February the news reached Leo; but he says: 'I really believe that what hurt me most, was that it prevented my taking part in some private theatricals then being got up at Court, and to which I had been invited.'
In March the war ended, and Tolstoy obtained furlough. On 25th March he wrote to his brother Sergius:
I want to go abroad for eight months, and if they give me leave I shall do so. I wrote to Nikólenka about it, and asked him to come too. If we could all three arrange to go together it would be first-rate. If each of us took Rs. 1000, we could do the trip capitally.
Please write and tell me how you like The Snow Storm. I am dissatisfied with it—seriously. But I now want to write many things, only I positively have no time in this damned Petersburg. Anyway, whether they let me go abroad or not, I intend to take furlough in April and come to the country.
On 13th May he was still in Petersburg, and we find him noting in his Diary:
The powerful means to true happiness in life, is to let flow from oneself on all sides, without any laws, like a spider, a cobweb of love, and to catch in it all that comes to hand: women old or young, children, or policemen.
Among his literary acquaintances at this time the one for whom he seems to have felt most sympathy and respect was Drouzhínin, a critic, writer of stories, and translator of Shakespear. Before long we find Drouzhínin leading a revolt against the Contemporary and attracting some of the contributors to the Reading Library, a rival magazine, to which Tolstoy contributed an article in December 1856.
It was not till the end of May that he got away from Petersburg; and on his road home he stopped in Moscow and visited the family of Dr. Behrs, a Russian of German origin, who had married Miss Islényef. The first mention one gets of Tolstoy's future wife is a note in his Diary relating to this visit to the Behrs's country house near Moscow. He says: 'The children served us. What dear, merry little girls! Little more than six years later, the second of these 'merry little girls' was Countess Tolstoy!
Three days later he writes to his brother Sergius: 'I spent ten days in Moscow ... very pleasantly, without champagne or gipsies, but a little in love—I will tell you later on with whom.' The object of his affection at that time was of course not Dr. Behrs's twelve-year-old daughter.
From Yásnaya he made a round of visits to see his married sister and other neighbours; among them Tourgénef, at whose house a gathering of the Tolstoys took place. Special honour was paid to Leo, who comically posed as the hero of a Triumph. He was being crowned and almost covered with flowers, leaves, grass, and anything that came handy, when the approach of an unwelcome guest—a lady neighbour of Tourgénef's—was announced. Thereupon the host seized his head in despair; the triumpher, with a howl, began to turn rapid catherine-wheel somersaults through the rooms; and his sister's husband was quickly bandaged up as an invalid, to be used as an excuse and a protection from the unwelcome intruder.
The letter to Sergius, quoted above, contains an allusion to Tolstoy's first serious matrimonial project.
He had in childhood been much attached to a certain Sónitchka Kalóshina. While at the University, he had had a sentimental love affair with a certain Z. M., who seems hardly to have been aware of his devotion. Then there was the Cossack damsel who figures in The Cossacks, and subsequently he much admired a society lady, Madame Sch., who may also have been scarcely aware of his feelings, for Tolstoy was shy and timid in these matters—which were quite different from his affairs with gipsy girls and other hireable women.
The present affair with V. V. A. was more serious than any of its predecessors. It led to a long correspondence, and even to their engagement being announced among relations and friends. The lady was the good-looking daughter of a landowner in the neighbourhood of Yásnaya Polyána.
In August she accompanied her family to Moscow for the Coronation of Alexander II. At these festivities she enjoyed herself greatly, and described her feelings in a letter which dealt the first blow to Tolstoy's admiration. He at once assumed towards her the rôle which more than twenty-five years later he assumed towards mankind in general, and upbraided her with the insignificant and unworthy nature of her interests and enjoyments, besides indulging in scathing sarcasms about the fashionable circles with which she was so enraptured.
The young lady did not reply. Tolstoy then begged pardon—which was granted.
Meanwhile he had fallen ill; and early in September he wrote to his brother Sergius:
Only now, at nine o'clock on Monday evening, can I give you a satisfactory reply, for till now things went worse and worse. Two doctors were sent for, and administered another forty leeches, but only now have I had a good sleep and, on waking up, feel considerably better. All the same, there can be no question of my leaving home for five or six days yet. So au revoir; please let me know when you go (shooting) and whether it is true that your farming has been seriously neglected; and do not kill all the game without me. I will send the dogs, perhaps, to-morrow.
He recovered. The young lady returned to her family's estate at Soudakóva, and his visits being renewed, Tolstoy's intimacy with her continued and grew closer.
Yet to 'test himself,' he started for a visit to Petersburg, and as soon as he had got as far as Moscow, wrote a letter to the young lady in which he dwelt on the importance of the mutual attraction of the sexes, the serious nature of his and her relation to one another, and the necessity of testing themselves by time and distance.
While living in Petersburg, he learnt the particulars of a flirtation the young lady had carried on at the time of the Coronation with a French music-master, Mortier; and he wrote her a letter full of reproaches. Instead of posting it, however, he wrote her another—telling her of the one he had written, which he intended to show her when they met.
After once breaking off relations with Mortier, the young lady allowed them to be again renewed, and what Tolstoy learned of the matter caused him seriously to reconsider his position. For some time his feelings evidently wavered. The very day after posting his remonstrance, he wrote another letter in a conciliatory tone, and though no reply came, he assumed that all was well, and continued the correspondence by sending her a detailed plan of the life they might hope to live together: its surroundings, circle of acquaintance, and the arrangement of their time. He also tried to interest her in the most serious problems of life.
No answer reaching him for a long time, he became agitated and perplexed. Then several letters, delayed in the post, arrived all at once, and cordial intercourse was re-established between the lovers. But though the engagement and correspondence continued, and expressions of affection were interchanged, it gradually became more and more evident that there was something artificial and unsatisfactory in their relation to one another.
Meanwhile Tolstoy was having other difficulties in Petersburg. On 10th November 1856 he writes to his brother Sergius:
Forgive me, dear friend Seryózha, for only writing two words—I have no time for more. I have been most unlucky since I left home; there is no one here I like. It seems that I have been abused in the Fatherland Journal for my war stories—I have not yet read the attack; but the worst is that Konstantínof [the General under whose command was the battery to which Tolstoy was attached] informed me as soon as I got here that the Grand Duke Michael, having learnt that I am supposed to have composed the Soldiers' Song, is displeased, particularly at my having (as rumour says) taught it to the soldiers. This is abominable. I have had an explanation with the Head of the Staff. The only satisfactory thing is that my health is good, and that (Dr.) Schipoulínsky says my lungs are thoroughly sound.
On 20th November 1856 Tolstoy left the army, in which he had never secured promotion though he had private influence enough to enable him, about this time, to save from trial by Court Martial the Commander of the battery in which he had served in the Crimea.
Early in December he left Petersburg for Moscow. From there, on 5th December, he writes to Aunt Tatiána:
When I first went away and for a week after, I thought I was 'in love' as it is called; but with an imagination such as mine that was not difficult.
Now, however, especially since I have set to work diligently, I should like—and very much like—to be able to say that I am in love, or even that I love her; but it is not the case. The only feeling I have for her is gratitude for her love of me, and the thought that of all the girls I have known or know, she would have made me the best wife, as I understand family life. And that is what I should like to have your candid opinion about. Am I mistaken or not? I should like to hear your advice because, in the first place, you know both her and me; and chiefly because you love me, and those who love are never wrong. It is true that I have tested myself very badly, for from the time I left home I have led a solitary rather than a dissipated life, and have seen few women; but notwithstanding that, I have had many moments of vexation with myself for having become connected with her, and I have repented of it. All the same, I repeat that if I were convinced that she is of a steadfast nature, and would love me always—even though not as now, yet more than any one else—then I should not hesitate for a moment about marrying her. I am confident that then my love of her would increase more and more and that through that feeling she would become a good woman.
Tolstoy in 1856, the year he left the army.
The young lady in question visited Petersburg for part of the winter season, but Tolstoy does not appear to have met her there, being himself away in Moscow for several weeks. The correspondence was largely didactic on his side, and was so unsatisfactory to the young lady that she finally forbade him to write again. He disobeyed the injunction, asking her pardon, telling her he was going abroad, and begging that she would write to him once more, to an address in Paris.
He wrote to Aunt Tatiána from Moscow, on 12th January 1857, a letter in which Russian and French alternate.
[31]Chère Tante!—J'ai reçu mon passeport pour l'étranger et je suis venu à Moscou pour y passer quelques jours avec Marie arranger mes affaires et prendre congé de vous.
But now I have reconsidered the matter, especially on Máshenka's advice, and have decided to remain with her here a week or two and then to go straight through Warsaw to Paris. You no doubt understand, chère tante, why I do not wish and why it is not right for me to come now to Yásnaya, or rather to Soudakóva. I, it seems, have acted very badly in relation to V., but were I to see her now, I should behave still worse. As I wrote you, I am more than indifferent to her, and feel that I can no longer deceive either her or myself. But were I to come, I might perhaps, from weakness of character, again delude myself.
Vous rappelez-vous, chère tante, comme vous vous êtes moquée de moi, quand je vous ai dit que je partais pour Pétersbourg 'pour m'éprouver,' et cependant c'est à cette idée que je suis redevable de n'avoir pas fait le malheur de la jeune personne et le mien, car ne croyez pas que ce soit de l'inconstance ou de l'infidélité; personne ne m'a plu pendant ces deux mois, mais tout bonnement j'ai vu que je me trompais moi-même; que non seulement jamais je n'ai eu, mais jamais je n'aurais pour V. le moindre sentiment d'amour véritable. La seule chose qui me fait beaucoup de peine c'est que j'ai fait du tort à la demoiselle et que je ne pourrai prendre congé de vous avant de partir....
After reaching Paris (an event belonging properly to the next chapter) he received a last communication from V. V. A. and wrote her a friendly letter in reply, speaking of his love as of something past, thanking her for her friendship, and wishing her every happiness.
His Aunt Tatiána—generally the mildest of critics where he was concerned—appears to have blamed him for his conduct; and the friends of V. V. A., including a French governess, Mlle. Vergani, did so yet more severely. In one of his letters, which contains indications of an agitation too strong to allow him to complete the construction of the opening sentence, he says:
[32]Si Mlle. V. qui m'a écrit une lettre aussi ridicule, voulait se rappeler toute ma conduite vis-à-vis de V. V. A., comment je tâchais de venir le plus rarement possible, comment c'est elle qui m'engageait à venir plus souvent et à entrer dans des relations plus proches. Je comprends qu'elle soit fâchée de ce qu'une chose qu'elle a beaucoup désirée ne s'est pas faite (j'en suis fâché peut-être plus qu'elle) mais ce n'est pas une raison pour dire à un homme qui s'est efforcé d'agir le mieux possible, qui a fait des sacrifices de peur de faire le malheur des autres, de lui dire, qu'il est un pig [this one word is in Russian in the original] et de le faire accroire à tout le monde. Je suis sûr que Toúla [the town nearest his estate] est convaincu que je suis le plus grand des monstres.
Turning from love to literature and friendship, we have two letters of this period from Tourgénef. The first is dated Paris, 16th November 1856, and is as follows:
Dearest Tolstoy,—Your letter of 15 October took a whole month crawling to me—I received it only yesterday. I have thought carefully about what you write me—and I think you are wrong. It is true I cannot be quite sincere, because I can't be quite frank, with you. I think we got to know each other awkwardly and at a bad time, and when we meet again it will be much easier and smoother. I feel that I love you as a man (as an author it needs no saying); but much in you is trying to me, and ultimately I found it better to keep at a distance from you. When we meet we will again try to go hand in hand—perhaps we shall succeed better; for strange as it may sound, my heart turns to you when at a distance, as to a brother: I even feel tenderly towards you. In a word, I love you—that is certain; perchance from that, in time, all good will follow. I heard of your illness and grieved; but now, I beg you, drive the thought of it out of your head. For you too have your fancies, and are perhaps thinking of consumption—but, God knows, you have nothing of the sort....
You have finished the first part of Youth—that is capital. How sorry I am to be unable to hear it read! If you do not go astray (which I think there is no reason to anticipate) you will go very far. I wish you good health, activity—and freedom, spiritual freedom.
As to my Faust, I do not think it will please you very much. My things could please you and perhaps have some influence on you, only until you became independent. Now you have no need to study me; you see only the difference of our manners, the mistakes and the omissions; what you have to do is to study man, your own heart, and the really great writers. I am a writer of a transition period—and am of use only to men in a transition state. So farewell, and be well. Write to me.
On 8th December 1856 he writes again:
Dear Tolstoy,—Yesterday my good genius led me past the post-office, and it occurred to me to ask if there were any letters for me at the poste-restante (though I think that all my friends ought long ago to have learnt my Paris address) and I found your letter, in which you speak of my Faust. You can well imagine how glad I was to read it. Your sympathy gladdened me truly and deeply. Yes, and from the whole letter there breathes a mild, clear and friendly peacefulness. It remains for me to hold out my hand across the 'ravine' which has long since become a hardly perceptible crack, about which we will speak no more—it is not worth it.
I fear to speak of one thing you mention: it is a delicate matter,—words may blight such things before they are ripe, but when they are ripe a hammer will not break them. God grant that all may turn out favourably and well. It may bring you that spiritual repose which you lacked when I knew you.
You have, I see, now become very intimate with Drouzhínin—and are under his influence. That is right, only take care not to swallow too much of him. When I was your age, only men of enthusiastic natures influenced me; but you are built differently, and perhaps also the times are changed.... Let me know in which numbers of the Contemporary your Youth will appear; and by the way, let me know the final impression made on you by Lear, which you probably have read, if only for Drouzhínin's sake.
About the same time Tourgénef wrote to Drouzhínin:
I hear that you have become very intimate with Tolstoy—and he has become very pleasant and serene. I am very glad. When that new wine has finished fermenting, it will yield a drink fit for the Gods. What about his Youth, which was sent for your verdict?
The allusion to Drouzhínin's translation of King Lear is worth noticing because fully fifty years later it was this play that Tolstoy selected for hostile analysis in his famous attack on Shakespear. One gathers from a letter written by V. P. Bótkin, that Drouzhínin's rendering impressed Tolstoy favourably at the time.
Before quoting Drouzhínin's criticism of Youth, it will be in place to mention other works by Tolstoy, not yet enumerated, which appeared at this period. Memoirs of a Billiard Marker, giving a glimpse of temptations Tolstoy had experienced, was published in January 1855, while he was in Sevastopol. In January 1856 came Sevastopol in August. In March 1856 appeared The Snow Storm. In May 1856 came a rollicking tale, with flashes of humour like that of Charles Lever, entitled Two Hussars. It is the only story Tolstoy ever wrote in that vein; and in it are introduced gipsy singers such as those of whom repeated mention occurs in his letters. In December, before he went abroad, two more tales were published: one of these, entitled Meeting a Moscow Acquaintance in the Detachment, containing a scathing portrayal of the cowardice a man, who had passed muster in 'good society,' displayed when circumstances put him to the test. The other story, A Squire's Morning, is closely drawn from Tolstoy's own experience when on first leaving the University he settled on his estate and attempted to better the condition of his serfs. Their stolidity, their distrust, and the immense difficulty of introducing any changes, are all brought out.
In a letter to Drouzhínin, Tourgénef wrote:
I have read his Squire's Morning, which pleased me exceedingly by its sincerity and almost complete freedom of outlook. I say 'almost' because in the way he set himself the task, there still is hidden (without his perhaps being aware of it) a certain amount of prejudice. The chief moral impression produced by the story (leaving the artistic impression aside) is that so long as the state of serfdom exists, there is no possibility of the two sides drawing together, despite the most disinterested and honourable desire to do so; and this impression is good and true. But beside it, like a horse cantering beside a trotter, there is another: namely, that in general to try to enlighten or improve the condition of the peasants leads to nothing; and this impression is unpleasant. But the mastery of language, the way it is told, and his character-drawing, are grand.