The Diaries of Sofia Tolstoy (78 page)

I didn't read the letter all the way through, I merely skimmed through it to the words: “Do you want to be my wife?” I was on my way upstairs to say yes to Lev Nikolaevich when I ran into my sister Liza in the doorway, who asked me: “Well, what happened?”

“
Le comte m'a fait la proposition
,”* I answered hurriedly. Then my mother came in and realized at once what had happened. Taking me firmly by the shoulders she turned me towards the door and said: “Go to him and give him your answer.”

I flew up the stairs on wings, tore past the dining room and drawing room and rushed into my mother's bedroom. Lev Nikolaevich stood in the corner, leaning against the wall, waiting for me. I went to him and he seized both my hands.

“Well, what is the answer?” he asked.

“Yes—of course,” I replied.

Within a few moments everyone in the house knew what had happened and was coming in to congratulate us.

My Name Day and Engagement

The next day, 17th September, was my name day. All our Moscow friends and relatives came to congratulate us and were told of our
engagement. When the old university professor who came to teach my sisters and me French heard that I and not Liza was going to marry Lev Nikolaevich, he said naively: “
C'est dommage que cela ne fût Mlle Lise; elle a si bien étudié
.”*

But little Katya Obolenskaya threw her arms around me and said: “I'm so glad you're going to marry such a splendid man and writer.”

My betrothal lasted only a week, from the 16th to the 23rd September. During this time I was taken round the shops, where I unenthusiastically tried on dresses, underwear and hats. Lev Nikolaevich visited every day, and one day he brought me his diaries. I remember how shattered I was by these diaries, which out of an excess of honesty he made me read before our wedding. It was very wrong of him to do this; I wept when I saw what his past had been.

The week passed like a bad dream. For many people my wedding was a sad event, and Lev Nikolaevich was in a terrible hurry to get it over. Maman said I would have to have at least some essential garments made before the wedding, if not the whole trousseau.

“She's got enough clothes,” said Lev Nikolaevich. “She looks very smart too.”

She managed to get one or two things hastily made for me, including the dress for my wedding, which was set for 23rd September at 7 in the evening, at the Palace Church in the Kremlin. At our house everyone was rushing about getting ready, and Lev Nikolaevich had a mass of things to see to. He bought a magnificent
dormeuse
,* ordered photographs to be taken of everyone in my family and presented me with a diamond brooch. He also had his own photograph taken, which I had begged him to have fitted into a golden bracelet my father had given me. But I didn't get a great deal of pleasure from the dresses or presents—I wasn't interested, I was too wrapped up in my love for Lev Nikolaevich and the fear of losing him. These fears have never left me; they have remained in my heart throughout my life, although thank God we have kept our love for each other intact throughout 48 years of marriage.

When we discussed our future together, Lev Nikolaevich said I should choose where I would like to live after the wedding. We could stay on with my parents in Moscow for a bit, we could go abroad or we could go straight to Yasnaya Polyana. I said I wanted to go to Yasnaya Polyana, and start a proper family life
at home
straight away. And I could see that he liked this very much.

The Wedding

It was 23rd September at last, the day of the wedding. I didn't see Lev Nikolaevich all day, but he dropped in for a moment. We sat down together on our valises and he started tormenting me, questioning me and doubting my love for him. The thought occurred to me that he wanted to run away, and might have had sudden doubts about the marriage.* I started to cry, and at that moment my mother came in and pounced on him: “Well, you've chosen a fine time to make her cry,” she said. “Today is her wedding day, it's hard enough for her as it is and she's got a long journey ahead of her, and look at her crying her eyes out.” Lev Nikolaevich looked very penitent, and went off to dine with the Perfilevs, his wedding sponsors, who would bless him and take him to the church. He had asked Timiryazev to be his best man, as his brother Sergei had gone to Yasnaya Polyana to get things ready and would be meeting us there.

From Lev Nikolaevich's side of the family was his aunt Pelageya Yushkova. She was to drive to the church with me and my little brother Volodya, who carried the icon.

Just before seven that evening, my sisters and friends began to dress me. I begged them not to call the hairdresser, as I wanted to do my own hair, and the girls pinned on the flowers and the long tulle veil. The dress was also tulle, and in the current fashion—very open at the neck and shoulders. It was so thin, light and airy, it seemed to envelop me like a cloud. My thin, childish unformed arms and shoulders looked pitifully bony. I was soon ready, and we now had to wait for the best man to come and tell us the bridegroom was in the church. An hour or more passed, and no one came. It flashed through my mind that he had run away—he had been so odd that morning. But then who should appear but cross-eyed little Alexei Stepanovich, his valet, who rushed in looking very agitated and asked us to open the suitcase immediately and get out a clean shirt. In all the preparations for the wedding and the journey they had apparently forgotten to leave one out! Someone had been sent to buy one, but it was Sunday and all the shops were closed. Another age elapsed while they took the shirt back to the bridegroom and he put it on and went to the church. Then began the farewells, the tears and the sobs, and I felt distraught.

“How will we manage without our little Countess!” my old nurse kept saying over and over again. (She always called me that, probably in memory of my grandmother, Countess Sofia Zavadovskaya, after whom I had been named.)

“I'll die of grief without you,” my sister Tanya said.

My little brother Petya just gazed at me despairingly with his sad black eyes. Maman avoided me and bustled about preparing the wedding supper. Everyone was plunged in gloom by the impending separation.

Father wasn't well. I went to say goodbye to him in his study, and he seemed deeply moved. They prepared bread and salt, Maman took down the icon of St Sofia the martyr, and with her brother, my uncle Mikhail, standing beside her, she blessed me with it.

We all drove in solemn silence to the Palace Church of the Virgin Birth, which was just a moment away from our apartment in the Kremlin. I was sobbing all the way. The winter garden and the church were magnificently lit up. Lev Nikolaevich met me in the garden, took me by the hand and walked me to the doors of the church, where we were met by the priest. He took both our hands in his and led us to the altar. The palace choir was singing, two priests conducted the service, and everything was very solemn and splendid. All the guests were assembled, and there were a great many strangers, palace employees mostly. They all remarked on my extreme youth and tear-stained eyes.

Lev Nikolaevich has described our wedding beautifully in his account of Levin and Kitty's wedding in his novel
Anna Karenina
. Not only did he paint a brilliantly imaginative picture of the ceremony, he also described the whole psychological process taking place in Levin's heart. As for me, I had already had so much excitement over the past few days that I experienced absolutely nothing as I stood at the altar. I just felt as though something obvious and inevitable was happening, as though it couldn't be otherwise, and there was no point in questioning it.

My best men were my brother Sasha and his friend P.,* a former Guards officer with him.

The ceremony ended, everyone congratulated us, and Lev Nikolaevich and I drove home together, just the two of us. He was being very affectionate to me and seemed happy…At home in the Kremlin they had prepared the usual wedding feast—champagne, fruit, sweets and so on. There were a few guests—just close friends and relatives.

Then I had to change into my travelling dress. Our old chambermaid Varvara, who my father's friend the waggish Doctor Anke had named the “Oyster”, was coming with me, and bustled about with Lev Nikolaevich's valet finishing the packing.

The Departure and Send-off

The postilion brought round six mail horses, which were harnessed to the brand new
dormeuse
Lev Nikolaevich had bought, gleaming black trunks were buckled and strapped to the top of the carriage, and Lev Nikolaevich was impatient to be off.

I had an agonizing lump in my throat and was choking with sadness. For the first time I suddenly realized I was actually leaving my family and everyone I had loved in my life
for ever
. But I struggled to control my tears. Then the farewells started. It was frightful! I broke down and sobbed when I said goodbye to my sick father. When I kissed Liza goodbye I stared into her eyes and she too was in tears. Tanya howled like a child, and so did Petya, who had drunk too much champagne in order to dull the sadness and had to be taken to bed. I then went downstairs and made the sign of the cross over my two-year-old little brother Vyacheslav, who was sound asleep, and said goodbye to my nurse, Vera Ivanovna, who sobbed and hugged me, kissing my face and shoulders, then kissing me all over. Stepanida Trifonovna, a reserved old lady who had lived with us for over thirty-five years, politely wished me much happiness.

These were the last moments. I had deliberately kept the final farewell with my mother to the very end, and just before getting into the carriage, I flung myself into her arms and we both sobbed. Those tears of parting expressed our mutual gratitude for all the love and kindness we had given each other, forgiveness for the pain we had unwittingly caused, my sorrow at parting with my beloved mother, and her motherly wish that I should be happy.

At last I managed to tear myself away from her and took my seat in the carriage without looking back. I shall never forget the piercing cry she uttered then; it seemed to have been torn from her heart.

The autumn rain was pouring down, and the puddles reflected the dull glow of the street lights and carriage lamps, which had just been lit. The horses were stamping impatiently and the ones in front with the postilion were straining to be off. Lev Nikolaevich slammed the carriage door shut, his valet Alexei Stepanovich jumped onto the back seat, and old Varvara the “Oyster” got up beside him. The horse's hooves splashed through the puddles, and we were off. I sat crouched in the corner, wretched and exhausted, and wept uncontrollably. Lev Nikolaevich seemed puzzled and dismayed. He had never had a real family and had grown up without a father or mother, and as a man he couldn't understand what I was feeling. He said he could see I didn't
love him if it hurt me so much to leave my family. What he didn't realize then was that if I was capable of such passionate love for my family, I would later transfer this love to him and our children. Which is exactly what happened.

We left the city and it became dark and frightening. I had never travelled anywhere in autumn or winter before, and found the darkness and lack of street lights terribly dispiriting. We barely spoke a word until we reached the first stop, Birulevo I think it was. I remember Lev Nikolaevich was particularly gentle and considerate to me. When we arrived at Birulevo, a young couple, titled, in a brand-new
dormeuse
driven by six horses, we were given the royal suite. The rooms were large, bare and cheerless, with red damask upholstery. They brought in the samovar and made tea. I huddled in a corner on the sofa and sat there silently, as if condemned to death.

“Come now, you must be mistress and pour the tea,” said Lev Nikolaevich.

I obeyed and we had tea, and I felt terribly bashful and nervous. I simply couldn't bring myself to change to the “thou” form, as he had done, and avoided calling him anything at all; I addressed him by the formal “you” for a long time afterwards too.

Our Arrival at Yasnaya Polyana

The journey from Moscow to Yasnaya Polyana took just under twenty-four hours, and we reached our home the following evening, to my great joy. It felt so strange—I was
at home
, and home was now Yasnaya Polyana.

The first person I saw as I went up the steps of the house where I would spend the next half-century of my life was Aunt Tatyana, holding up the icon of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and Sergei Nikolaevich, my brother-in-law, standing beside her with the bread and salt. I bowed to their feet, made the sign of the cross and kissed first the icon, then Aunt Tatyana. Lev Nikolaevich did likewise. That day was the start of my life in Yasnaya Polyana, where I lived almost uninterruptedly for the first eighteen years of my marriage.

Lev Nikolaevich wrote in his diary: “
25th September 1862
. Unbelievable happiness! Is it possible that this will last all our lives?”

 

Various Notes for Future Reference, and Remarks Made by L.N. Tolstoy on His Writing

20th November 1873
. L.N. has been describing to me the way he got some of the ideas for his novel
Anna Karenina
:

“I was sitting downstairs in my study, examining the white silk embroidery on the sleeve of my dressing gown, and I thought how beautiful it was. And then I wondered how it occurred to people to invent all these designs and decorations and embroideries, and I realized there was a whole world of fashion and ideas and hard work that make up women's lives, and women are so fascinated by all this. And it naturally led my thoughts about the novel to Anna, and suddenly this piece of embroidery on my sleeve suggested a whole chapter to me. Anna is cut off from all the joys of this side of a woman's life, for she is alone, other women spurn her and she has no one to talk to about all the ordinary, everyday things that interest them.”