Sisters Sofia (Sonya) and Tatiana (Tanya) Bers in 1861.
In the short and tumultuous romance that rapidly started to unfold between a 34-year-old man with rich and varied experience and an innocent girl of eighteen, Sonya took a definite lead. Already in August she was telling Tolstoy that she had written a story describing the complex situation in the family. As her younger sister recalled, the story had two characters: the middle-aged Prince Dublitsky, energetic and intelligent with ‘unattractive appearance’ and ‘fickle opinions’, and Smirnov, a young man of positive, calm temperament with ‘lofty ideals’. The female character Elena was a young and beautiful girl with big black eyes. She had two sisters: the elder, cold Zinaida in love with Dublitsky, and the younger, lively Natasha. Smirnov fell in love with Elena, and proposed to her, but her parents were hesitant, considering the couple too young for marriage. Suddenly Elena started to realize that she loved Dublitsky, who also preferred her to her sister, and felt guilty before both Zinaida and Smirnov. At some point, exhausted by the inner conflict, Elena contemplated retiring to a convent, but finally managed to arrange a marriage between Dublitsky and Zinaida while herself marrying Smirnov.
The Preshpekt, the main route to the house in Yasnaya Polyana, 1903–5.
On 26 August 1862 Sonya handed the story to Tolstoy who, as usual, was deeply unsure whether he deserved to be loved. It is difficult to imagine a more provocative move. Sofia’s story made the renowned author feel encouraged, touched, excited and mortified at the same time:
She gave me a story to read. What force of truth and simplicity! The uncertainty torments her. I read it without a sinking heart, jealousy or envy, but ‘unusually unattractive appearance’ and ‘fickleness of opinions’ touched me on the raw. I am calmed down now. All this is not for me. (Ds, p. 146)
In his diary Tolstoy reflected further about Sonya’s possible intentions, using his characteristic psychological analysis of the layered structure of human motives: ‘On the way back I thought: either it is all unintentional, or her feelings are unusually subtle, or it is the basest coquetry . . . or else it’s unintentional and subtle and coquettish’ (Ds, p. 147).
In response to the story, he wrote a letter to Sonya explaining that he was misunderstood in her family and never really loved Liza or intended to marry her. Not daring to commit this explanation fully to paper, Tolstoy limited himself to using the initial letters of every word. In one of the most memorable episodes in Anna Karenina, Kitty, guided by the miraculous intuition of a loving woman, understands the message written to her by Levin in the same way. Whether it was the spell of Tolstoy’s novel or the power of a family legend, which it reflected, Countess Sofia Tolstoy repeated the same story in her memoirs. In fact, this display of celestial harmony between like-minded souls never actually took place. In his diary Tolstoy explicitly says that Sonya ‘made him decipher the letter’ (Ds, p. 147). Regardless of this, his passion was growing stronger and stronger.
‘Don’t intrude where youth, poetry, beauty and love are’ (Ds, p. 147), Tolstoy wrote in his diary on 7 September 1862. He then immediately proceeded to confess that deep in his heart he was imagining Sofia reading this entry and that he actually had made it ‘for her’. Three days later he left the Bers house ‘without hope and more in love than ever’. While he desperately wanted to ‘cut the knot’ and to ‘tell her and Tanechka’, Tolstoy lacked the courage to do so. By now the whole family, except for Liza, who still cherished hopes of her own, realized what was happening. ‘I am beginning to hate Liza as well as pity her,’ wrote Tolstoy in his diary. ‘Lord help me and guide me’ (Ds, p. 148). His frenzy became unbearable:
I am in love, as I never believed was possible to love. I am mad, I’ll shoot myself if it goes on like this. Spent the evening at their house. She is charming in every way. But I am the repulsive Dublitsky. I should have been on my guard sooner. Granted, I am Dublitsky, but love makes me beautiful. Yes, tomorrow morning I’ll go to their house. There have been moments, but I did not take advantage of them. I was timid, I should simply have spoken. I just want to go back now and say everything in front of them. Lord, help me. (Ds, p. 149)
On 13 September Tolstoy returned to the Berses, but once again found himself unable to speak out. The next day, realizing that making an open declaration was beyond his power, he wrote a proposal to Sofia, pleading for her to consider her response ‘without hurrying’. Tolstoy assured her that he would be able to bear her ‘no’, but ‘not to be loved as a husband as much as’ he loves ‘would be even more terrible’ for him. (Ls, I, pp. 108–9). He carried the letter in his pocket for two more days, feeling unable to deliver it.
There was more to Tolstoy’s indecision than a usual fear of making an irreversible step, excessive shyness or even the acute sense of the burden of age and sinful experience he had to carry in his new life. He was determined that not only future family happiness, but the fulfilment of his literary calling and chances for moral salvation depended upon the choice and the power of Sofia’s love and devotion to him. He found himself on the verge of either absolute bliss or eternal ruin. At some point he composed a different version of his letter, explaining why he had to renounce hope and stop visiting: ‘I demand from marriage something terrible, impossible. To be loved as I can love, but this is impossible.’ Then he decided to take the risk. ‘My God, how afraid I am of dying,’ he confessed in his diary after completing his formal written proposal. ‘Happiness, and such happiness, seems to me impossible’ (Ds, p. 149).
On 16 September Tolstoy again visited the Berses and accompanied Tanya, who had a fine soprano voice, on the piano. Sonya and Liza were listening nervously nearby. Tolstoy decided that he would hand Sonya the letter if her sister managed to hit the difficult high note at the end. Tanya performed impeccably and shortly afterwards saw Sonya rushing from the room with a piece of paper in her hands, hesitantly followed by Liza. Tanya ran downstairs to the girls’ room and heard Liza shouting at Sonya, demanding that she reveal what ‘the count’ had written to her. ‘He made me a proposal,’ Sofia replied quietly. ‘Refuse immediately,’ cried Liza hysterically. Their mother appeared, ordered Liza to stop and told Sonya to give an immediate answer. She went back and said, ‘Yes, of course.’ The next day Sonya explained to a desperate Polivanov that she would not have betrayed him with anyone else, but ‘one cannot help loving Lev Nikolaevich’ (Kuz, pp. 130–34).