ANNA KARENINA
PART 28
Chapter 13
None but
those who were most intimate with Alexey Alexandrovitch knew that, while on the
surface the coldest and most reasonable of men, he had one weakness quite
opposed to the general trend of his character. Alexey Alexandrovitch could not
hear or see a child or woman crying without being moved. The sight of tears
threw him into a state of nervous agitation, and he utterly lost all power of
reflection. The chief secretary of his department and his private secretary were
aware of this, and used to warn women who came with petitions on no account to
give way to tears, if they did not want to ruin their chances. “He will get
angry, and will not listen to you,” they used to say. And as a fact, in such
cases the emotional disturbance set up in Alexey Alexandrovitch by the sight of
tears found expression in hasty anger. “I can do nothing. Kindly leave the
room!” he would commonly cry in such cases.
When
returning from the races Anna had informed him of her relations with Vronsky,
and immediately afterwards had burst into tears, hiding her face in her hands,
Alexey Alexandrovitch, for all the fury aroused in him against her, was aware
at the same time of a rush of that emotional disturbance always produced in him
by tears. Conscious of it, and conscious that any expression of his feelings at
that minute would be out of keeping with the position, he tried to suppress
every manifestation of life in himself, and so neither stirred nor looked at
her. This was what had caused that strange expression of deathlike rigidity in
his face which had so impressed Anna.
When they
reached the house he helped her to get out of the carriage, and making an
effort to master himself, took leave of her with his usual urbanity, and
uttered that phrase that bound him to nothing; he said that tomorrow he would
let her know his decision.
His wife’s
words, confirming his worst suspicions, had sent a cruel pang to the heart of
Alexey Alexandrovitch. That pang was intensified by the strange feeling of
physical pity for her set up by her tears. But when he was all alone in the
carriage Alexey Alexandrovitch, to his surprise and delight, felt complete
relief both from this pity and from the doubts and agonies of jealousy.
He
experienced the sensations of a man who has had a tooth out after suffering
long from toothache. After a fearful agony and a sense of something huge,
bigger than the head itself, being torn out of his jaw, the sufferer, hardly
able to believe in his own good luck, feels all at once that what has so long
poisoned his existence and enchained his attention, exists no longer, and that
he can live and think again, and take interest in other things besides his
tooth. This feeling Alexey Alexandrovitch was experiencing. The agony had been
strange and terrible, but now it was over; he felt that he could live again and
think of something other than his wife.
“No honour,
no heart, no religion; a corrupt woman. I always knew it and always saw it,
though I tried to deceive myself to spare her,” he said to himself. And it
actually seemed to him that he always had seen it: he recalled incidents of
their past life, in which he had never seen anything wrong before—now these
incidents proved clearly that she had always been a corrupt woman. “I made a
mistake in linking my life to hers; but there was nothing wrong in my mistake,
and so I cannot be unhappy. It’s not I that am to blame,” he told himself, “but
she. But I have nothing to do with her. She does not exist for me....”
Everything
relating to her and her son, towards whom his sentiments were as much changed
as towards her, ceased to interest him. The only thing that interested him now
was the question of in what way he could best, with most propriety and comfort
for himself, and thus with most justice, extricate himself from the mud with
which she had spattered him in her fall, and then proceed along his path of
active, honourable, and useful existence.
“I cannot
be made unhappy by the fact that a contemptible woman has committed a crime. I
have only to find the best way out of the difficult position in which she has
placed me. And I shall find it,” he said to himself, frowning more and more.
“I’m not the first nor the last.” And to say nothing of historical instances
dating from the “Fair Helen” of Menelaus, recently revived in the memory of
all, a whole list of contemporary examples of husbands with unfaithful wives in
the highest society rose before Alexey Alexandrovitch’s imagination. “Daryalov,
Poltavsky, Prince Karibanov, Count Paskudin, Dram.... Yes, even Dram, such an
honest, capable fellow ... Semyonov, Tchagin, Sigonin,” Alexey Alexandrovitch
remembered. “Admitting that a certain quite irrational ridicule falls to
the lot of these men, yet I never saw anything but a misfortune in it, and
always felt sympathy for it,” Alexey Alexandrovitch said to himself, though
indeed this was not the fact, and he had never felt sympathy for misfortunes of
that kind, but the more frequently he had heard of instances of unfaithful
wives betraying their husbands, the more highly he had thought of himself. “It
is a misfortune which may befall anyone. And this misfortune has befallen me.
The only thing to be done is to make the best of the position.”
And he
began passing in review the methods of proceeding of men who had been in the
same position that he was in.
“Daryalov
fought a duel....”
The duel
had particularly fascinated the thoughts of Alexey Alexandrovitch in his youth,
just because he was physically a coward, and was himself well aware of the
fact. Alexey Alexandrovitch could not without horror contemplate the idea of a
pistol aimed at himself, and had never made use of any weapon in his life. This
horror had in his youth set him pondering on duelling, and picturing himself in
a position in which he would have to expose his life to danger. Having attained
success and an established position in the world, he had long ago forgotten
this feeling; but the habitual bent of feeling reasserted itself, and dread of
his own cowardice proved even now so strong that Alexey Alexandrovitch spent a
long while thinking over the question of duelling in all its aspects, and
hugging the idea of a duel, though he was fully aware beforehand that he would
never under any circumstances fight one.
“There’s
no doubt our society is still so barbarous (it’s not the same in England) that
very many”—and among these were those whose opinion Alexey Alexandrovitch
particularly valued—“look favourably on the duel; but what result is attained
by it? Suppose I call him out,” Alexey Alexandrovitch went on to himself, and
vividly picturing the night he would spend after the challenge, and the pistol
aimed at him, he shuddered, and knew that he never would do it—“suppose I call
him out. Suppose I am taught,” he went on musing, “to shoot; I press the
trigger,” he said to himself, closing his eyes, “and it turns out I have killed
him,” Alexey Alexandrovitch said to himself, and he shook his head as though to
dispel such silly ideas. “What sense is there in murdering a man in order to
define one’s relation to a guilty wife and son? I should still just as much
have to decide what I ought to do with her. But what is more probable and what
would doubtless occur—I should be killed or wounded. I, the innocent person,
should be the victim—killed or wounded. It’s even more senseless. But apart
from that, a challenge to fight would be an act hardly honest on my side. Don’t
I know perfectly well that my friends would never allow me to fight a
duel—would never allow the life of a statesman, needed by Russia, to be exposed
to danger? Knowing perfectly well beforehand that the matter would never come
to real danger, it would amount to my simply trying to gain a certain sham
reputation by such a challenge. That would be dishonest, that would be false,
that would be deceiving myself and others. A duel is quite irrational, and no
one expects it of me. My aim is simply to safeguard my reputation, which is
essential for the uninterrupted pursuit of my public duties.” Official duties,
which had always been of great consequence in Alexey Alexandrovitch’s eyes,
seemed of special importance to his mind at this moment. Considering and
rejecting the duel, Alexey Alexandrovitch turned to divorce—another solution
selected by several of the husbands he remembered. Passing in mental review all
the instances he knew of divorces (there were plenty of them in the very
highest society with which he was very familiar), Alexey Alexandrovitch could
not find a single example in which the object of divorce was that which he had
in view. In all these instances the husband had practically ceded or sold his
unfaithful wife, and the very party which, being in fault, had not the right to
contract a fresh marriage, had formed counterfeit, pseudo-matrimonial ties with
a self-styled husband. In his own case, Alexey Alexandrovitch saw that a legal
divorce, that is to say, one in which only the guilty wife would be repudiated,
was impossible of attainment. He saw that the complex conditions of the life
they led made the coarse proofs of his wife’s guilt, required by the law, out
of the question; he saw that a certain refinement in that life would not admit
of such proofs being brought forward, even if he had them, and that to bring
forward such proofs would damage him in the public estimation more than it
would her.
An attempt
at divorce could lead to nothing but a public scandal, which would be a perfect
godsend to his enemies for calumny and attacks on his high position in society.
His chief object, to define the position with the least amount of disturbance
possible, would not be attained by divorce either. Moreover, in the event of
divorce, or even of an attempt to obtain a divorce, it was obvious that the
wife broke off all relations with the husband and threw in her lot with the
lover. And in spite of the complete, as he supposed, contempt and indifference
he now felt for his wife, at the bottom of his heart Alexey Alexandrovitch
still had one feeling left in regard to her—a disinclination to see her free to
throw in her lot with Vronsky, so that her crime would be to her advantage. The
mere notion of this so exasperated Alexey Alexandrovitch, that directly it rose
to his mind he groaned with inward agony, and got up and changed his place in
the carriage, and for a long while after, he sat with scowling brows, wrapping
his numbed and bony legs in the fleecy rug.
“Apart
from formal divorce, One might still do like Karibanov, Paskudin, and that good
fellow Dram—that is, separate from one’s wife,” he went on thinking, when he
had regained his composure. But this step too presented the same drawback of
public scandal as a divorce, and what was more, a separation, quite as much as
a regular divorce, flung his wife into the arms of Vronsky. “No, it’s out of
the question, out of the question!” he said again, twisting his rug about him
again. “I cannot be unhappy, but neither she nor he ought to be happy.”
The
feeling of jealousy, which had tortured him during the period of uncertainty,
had passed away at the instant when the tooth had been with agony extracted by
his wife’s words. But that feeling had been replaced by another, the desire,
not merely that she should not be triumphant, but that she should get due
punishment for her crime. He did not acknowledge this feeling, but at the
bottom of his heart he longed for her to suffer for having destroyed his peace
of mind—his honour. And going once again over the conditions inseparable from a
duel, a divorce, a separation, and once again rejecting them, Alexey
Alexandrovitch felt convinced that there was only one solution,—to keep her
with him, concealing what had happened from the world, and using every measure
in his power to break off the intrigue, and still more—though this he did not
admit to himself—to punish her. “I must inform her of my conclusion, that
thinking over the terrible position in which she has placed her family, all
other solutions will be worse for both sides than an external status quo,
and that such I agree to retain, on the strict condition of obedience on her
part to my wishes, that is to say, cessation of all intercourse with her
lover.” When this decision had been finally adopted, another weighty
consideration occurred to Alexey Alexandrovitch in support of it. “By such a
course only shall I be acting in accordance with the dictates of religion,” he
told himself. “In adopting this course, I am not casting off a guilty wife, but
giving her a chance of amendment; and, indeed, difficult as the task will be to
me, I shall devote part of my energies to her reformation and salvation.”
Though
Alexey Alexandrovitch was perfectly aware that he could not exert any moral
influence over his wife, that such an attempt at reformation could lead to nothing
but falsity; though in passing through these difficult moments he had not once
thought of seeking guidance in religion, yet now, when his conclusion
corresponded, as it seemed to him, with the requirements of religion, this
religious sanction to his decision gave him complete satisfaction, and to some
extent restored his peace of mind. He was pleased to think that, even in such
an important crisis in life, no one would be able to say that he had not acted
in accordance with the principles of that religion whose banner he had always
held aloft amid the general coolness and indifference. As he pondered over
subsequent developments, Alexey Alexandrovitch did not see, indeed, why his
relations with his wife should not remain practically the same as before. No
doubt, she could never regain his esteem, but there was not, and there could
not be, any sort of reason that his existence should be troubled, and that he
should suffer because she was a bad and faithless wife. “Yes, time will pass;
time, which arranges all things, and the old relations will be reestablished,”
Alexey Alexandrovitch told himself; “so far reestablished, that is, that I
shall not be sensible of a break in the continuity of my life. She is bound to
be unhappy, but I am not to blame, and so I cannot be unhappy.”
Chapter 14
As he
neared Petersburg, Alexey Alexandrovitch not only adhered entirely to his
decision, but was even composing in his head the letter he would write to his
wife. Going into the porter’s room, Alexey Alexandrovitch glanced at the
letters and papers brought from his office, and directed that they should be
brought to him in his study.
“The
horses can be taken out and I will see no one,” he said in answer to the
porter, with a certain pleasure, indicative of his agreeable frame of mind,
emphasizing the words, “see no one.”
In his
study Alexey Alexandrovitch walked up and down twice, and stopped at an immense
writing-table, on which six candles had already been lighted by the valet who
had preceded him. He cracked his knuckles and sat down, sorting out his writing
appurtenances. Putting his elbows on the table, he bent his head on one side,
thought a minute, and began to write, without pausing for a second. He wrote
without using any form of address to her, and wrote in French, making use of
the plural “vous,” which has not the same note of coldness as the
corresponding Russian form.
“At our
last conversation, I notified you of my intention to communicate to you my
decision in regard to the subject of that conversation. Having carefully
considered everything, I am writing now with the object of fulfilling that
promise. My decision is as follows. Whatever your conduct may have been, I do
not consider myself justified in breaking the ties in which we are bound by a
Higher Power. The family cannot be broken up by a whim, a caprice, or even by
the sin of one of the partners in the marriage, and our life must go on as it
has done in the past. This is essential for me, for you, and for our son. I am
fully persuaded that you have repented and do repent of what has called forth
the present letter, and that you will cooperate with me in eradicating the
cause of our estrangement, and forgetting the past. In the contrary event, you
can conjecture what awaits you and your son. All this I hope to discuss more in
detail in a personal interview. As the season is drawing to a close, I would
beg you to return to Petersburg as quickly as possible, not later than Tuesday.
All necessary preparations shall be made for your arrival here. I beg you to
note that I attach particular significance to compliance with this request.
A. Karenin
“P.S.—I
enclose the money which may be needed for your expenses.”
He read
the letter through and felt pleased with it, and especially that he had
remembered to enclose money: there was not a harsh word, not a reproach in it,
nor was there undue indulgence. Most of all, it was a golden bridge for return.
Folding the letter and smoothing it with a massive ivory knife, and putting it
in an envelope with the money, he rang the bell with the gratification it
always afforded him to use the well arranged appointments of his writing-table.
“Give this
to the courier to be delivered to Anna Arkadyevna tomorrow at the summer
villa,” he said, getting up.
“Certainly,
your excellency; tea to be served in the study?”
Alexey
Alexandrovitch ordered tea to be brought to the study, and playing with the
massive paper-knife, he moved to his easy chair, near which there had been
placed ready for him a lamp and the French work on Egyptian hieroglyphics that
he had begun. Over the easy chair there hung in a gold frame an oval portrait
of Anna, a fine painting by a celebrated artist. Alexey Alexandrovitch glanced
at it. The unfathomable eyes gazed ironically and insolently at him.
Insufferably insolent and challenging was the effect in Alexey Alexandrovitch’s
eyes of the black lace about the head, admirably touched in by the painter, the
black hair and handsome white hand with one finger lifted, covered with rings.
After looking at the portrait for a minute, Alexey Alexandrovitch shuddered so
that his lips quivered and he uttered the sound “brrr,” and turned away. He
made haste to sit down in his easy chair and opened the book. He tried to read,
but he could not revive the very vivid interest he had felt before in Egyptian
hieroglyphics. He looked at the book and thought of something else. He thought
not of his wife, but of a complication that had arisen in his official life,
which at the time constituted the chief interest of it. He felt that he had
penetrated more deeply than ever before into this intricate affair, and that he
had originated a leading idea—he could say it without self-flattery—calculated
to clear up the whole business, to strengthen him in his official career, to
discomfit his enemies, and thereby to be of the greatest benefit to the
government. Directly the servant had set the tea and left the room, Alexey
Alexandrovitch got up and went to the writing-table. Moving into the middle of
the table a portfolio of papers, with a scarcely perceptible smile of
self-satisfaction, he took a pencil from a rack and plunged into the perusal of
a complex report relating to the present complication. The complication was of
this nature: Alexey Alexandrovitch’s characteristic quality as a politician,
that special individual qualification that every rising functionary possesses,
the qualification that with his unflagging ambition, his reserve, his honesty,
and with his self-confidence had made his career, was his contempt for red
tape, his cutting down of correspondence, his direct contact, wherever
possible, with the living fact, and his economy. It happened that the famous
Commission of the 2nd of June had set on foot an inquiry into the irrigation of
lands in the Zaraisky province, which fell under Alexey Alexandrovitch’s
department, and was a glaring example of fruitless expenditure and paper
reforms. Alexey Alexandrovitch was aware of the truth of this. The irrigation
of these lands in the Zaraisky province had been initiated by the predecessor
of Alexey Alexandrovitch’s predecessor. And vast sums of money had actually
been spent and were still being spent on this business, and utterly
unproductively, and the whole business could obviously lead to nothing
whatever. Alexey Alexandrovitch had perceived this at once on entering office,
and would have liked to lay hands on the Board of Irrigation. But at first, when
he did not yet feel secure in his position, he knew it would affect too many
interests, and would be injudicious. Later on he had been engrossed in other
questions, and had simply forgotten the Board of Irrigation. It went of itself,
like all such boards, by the mere force of inertia. (Many people gained their
livelihood by the Board of Irrigation, especially one highly conscientious and
musical family: all the daughters played on stringed instruments, and Alexey
Alexandrovitch knew the family and had stood godfather to one of the elder
daughters.) The raising of this question by a hostile department was in Alexey
Alexandrovitch’s opinion a dishonourable proceeding, seeing that in every
department there were things similar and worse, which no one inquired into, for
well-known reasons of official etiquette. However, now that the glove had been
thrown down to him, he had boldly picked it up and demanded the appointment of
a special commission to investigate and verify the working of the Board of
Irrigation of the lands in the Zaraisky province. But in compensation he gave
no quarter to the enemy either. He demanded the appointment of another special
commission to inquire into the question of the Native Tribes Organization
Committee. The question of the Native Tribes had been brought up incidentally
in the Commission of the 2nd of June, and had been pressed forward actively by
Alexey Alexandrovitch as one admitting of no delay on account of the deplorable
condition of the native tribes. In the commission this question had been a
ground of contention between several departments. The department hostile to
Alexey Alexandrovitch proved that the condition of the native tribes was
exceedingly flourishing, that the proposed reconstruction might be the ruin of
their prosperity, and that if there were anything wrong, it arose mainly from
the failure on the part of Alexey Alexandrovitch’s department to carry out the
measures prescribed by law. Now Alexey Alexandrovitch intended to demand:
First, that a new commission should be formed which should be empowered to
investigate the condition of the native tribes on the spot; secondly, if it
should appear that the condition of the native tribes actually was such as it
appeared to be from the official documents in the hands of the committee, that
another new scientific commission should be appointed to investigate the
deplorable condition of the native tribes from the—(1) political, (2)
administrative, (3) economic, (4) ethnographical, (5) material, and (6)
religious points of view; thirdly, that evidence should be required from the
rival department of the measures that had been taken during the last ten years
by that department for averting the disastrous conditions in which the native
tribes were now placed; and fourthly and finally, that that department explain
why it had, as appeared from the evidence before the committee, from No. 17,015
and 18,038, from December 5, 1863, and June 7, 1864, acted in direct
contravention of the intent of the law T... Act 18, and the note to Act 36. A
flash of eagerness suffused the face of Alexey Alexandrovitch as he rapidly
wrote out a synopsis of these ideas for his own benefit. Having filled a sheet
of paper, he got up, rang, and sent a note to the chief secretary of his
department to look up certain necessary facts for him. Getting up and walking
about the room, he glanced again at the portrait, frowned, and smiled
contemptuously. After reading a little more of the book on Egyptian
hieroglyphics, and renewing his interest in it, Alexey Alexandrovitch went to
bed at eleven o’clock, and recollecting as he lay in bed the incident with his
wife, he saw it now in by no means such a gloomy light.
To be continued
