What is the most sad love story in literature? In Russian literature, like in Tolstoy’s novels, there are some pretty sad figures. In “War and Peace” there is Sonya Rostova. Officially it is about War and Peace, but basically this book is about love. And Sonya does not have any luck. Sonya is pretty, but shy, and humble: poor background, humble character, therefore finding herself at the bottom of the “dating pool” where energetic and rich people are at the top. Therefore she misses a chance at love with prince Nikolas, once her childhood friend.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sonya_(War_and_Peace)
Actually, Tolstoy is very negative about Sonya, in the end of War and Piece she is portrayed in a negative way, as a “sterile flower”. She lives with the Rostovs as a helping hand, a “gouvernant”, an unmarried woman taking care of the children of prince Nicholas and his new wife.
Some commentators say that Tolstoy is “cruel” on Sonya. Still to me Sonya is the most appealing of Tolstoy’s feminine figures in War and Piece. You can have all the other figures with their vitality, but this is sort of in conflict with her humility, and if vitality is significant to others, humility is significant to me. I do like humble kind of people.
But still I do not want them to fail. I damn Tolstoy, because in his book those humble people don’t seem to be able to be smart and proud about it.
In Tolstoy’s second big novel Anna Karenina there is another such a humble “Sonya”-character, it’s Varenka. She also fails in finding a love partner, almost getting married, but in the end not getting married. I don’t like it, therefore I went through the whole thing and changed a few minor details.
original on http://www.magister.msk.ru/library/tolstoy/english/akp06e.htm
adaptation below
Anna Karenina
Chapter V
“Varvara Andreevna, when I was very young, I set before myself the ideal of the woman I loved and should be happy to call my wife. I have lived through a long life, and now for the first time I have met what I sought- in you. I love you, and offer you my hand.”
Sergei Ivanovich was saying this to himself while he was ten paces from Varenka. Kneeling down, with her hands over the mushrooms to guard them from Grisha, she was calling little Masha.
“Come here, little ones! There are so many!” she was saying in her sweet, deep voice.
Seeing Sergei Ivanovich approaching, she did not get up and did not change her position, but everything told him that she felt his presence and was glad of it.
“Well, did you find some?” she asked from under the white kerchief, turning her handsome, gently smiling face to him.
“Not one,” said Sergei Ivanovich. “Did you?”
She did not answer, busy with the children who thronged about her busy with getting his attention
“That one too, near the twig,” she pointed out to little Masha a little fungus, split in half across its rosy cap by the dry grass from under which it thrust itself. Varenka got up while Masha picked the fungus, breaking it into two white halves. “This brings back my childhood,” she added, moving apart from the children, to Sergei Ivanovich’s side.
They walked on for a few steps in silence. Varenka saw that he wanted to speak; she guessed of what, and felt faint with joy and panic. They had walked so far away that no one could hear them now, but still he did not begin. It would have been better for Varenka to be silent.
Sergei Ivanovich wanted to bring her back to the first words she had uttered about her childhood:
“This forest brings back my childhood too,” he said. “I have been in forests a lot, as a child. It’s so fairy tale-like. Do you like fairy tales?”
“Yes, I like them.”
“I like them too. Sometimes a bit scary, some bears. But there is always this happy-end.”
Some minutes more passed; they moved still farther away from the children, and were quite alone. Varenka’s heart throbbed so that she heard it beating, and felt that she was turning red, and pale, and red again.
To be the wife of a man like Koznishev, the mere possibility was to her imagination the height of happiness. Besides, she was almost certain that she was in love with him. And this moment it would have to be decided. She felt frightened. She dreaded both his speaking and his not speaking.
Now or never it must be said- Sergei Ivanovich felt that too. Everything in the expression, the flushed cheeks and the downcast eyes of Varenka betrayed a painful suspense. Sergei Ivanovich saw it, and felt attracted to her, so he said to himself: “Don’t let this woman walk away from you in a couple of minutes you fool.” Rapidly in his own mind he ran over all the arguments in support of his decision. And he even said over to himself the words in which he meant to put his proposal, that made him ask:
“What is the difference between this forest and a forest in a fairy tale any way?
Varenka’s lips quivered with emotion as she answered:
“In essence there is scarcely any difference.”
“No bears around today, fortunately.”
“No, can’t remember seeing or hearing one.”
“Mmm, hope some show up, though. Usually only afterwards good things happen, people get married and stuff.”
“In that case, definitely!”
“You mean like a chance for marriage?”
“Ow,” and she blushed: “no, no I don’t think I am ready to marriage.”
“Too early?”
“Ow, yeah!”
“But, let’s say, hypothetically? Should we then decide on such a point?”
“Yes. Usually they say, there should be a sign. You cannot just get married without a sign, just out of nothing!”
“O, yeah, a sign!”
“Don’t say that I am kidding. I absolutely don’t want a marriage that is to fail! I marry only once. I need a sign before I am going to marry!”
Then they saw two birds in a tree, sitting next to each other. They had to giggle.
“That’s too obvious.”
“Yeah.”
“To obvious a sign, you mean.”
“Well, I meant..”
And as soon as these words were uttered, he kissed her and this spoke for itself so that what was to have been said would need not be said; and their emotion, which up to then had been subdued, grew intense
