Anna Karenina (Dole)/Part Four/Chapter 22
CHAPTER XXII
Stepan Arkadyevitch went into his brother-in-law's cabinet, with the solemn face which he tried to assume when he sat in his official chair at a council-meeting. Alekseï Aleksandrovitch, with his arms behind his back, was walking up and down the room, considering the same thing that Stepan Arkadyevitch had been discussing with his wife.
"Shall I disturb you?" asked Stepan Arkadyevitch, suddenly feeling an unwonted embarrassment. In order to conceal his embarrassment, he took a new cigar-case out of his pocket, smelt of the leather, and took out a cigarette.
"No. Do you wish to see me?" asked Alekseï Aleksandrovitch, reluctantly.
"Yes ....I would like ....I must.... yes, I must have a talk with you," said Stepan Arkadyevitch, surprised at his confusion.
This feeling was so strange and unexpected to him, that he did not recognize in it the voice of conscience, warning him that what he hoped to do was evil. He recovered himself with an effort, and conquered the weakness which took possession of him.
"I hope that you believe in my love for my sister, and in my sincere sympathy and regard for you," said he, and his face grew red.
Alekseï Aleksandrovitch listened, and made no reply; but his face struck Stepan Arkadyevitch by its expression of humility and pain.
"I intended, I came on purpose, to speak with you about my sister, and the situation in which you and she are placed," said Stepan Arkadyevitch, still struggling with his unusual embarrassment.
Alekseï Aleksandrovitch smiled sadly, looked at his brother-in-law, and, without replying, went to the table, took up a half-written letter, and handed it to him.
"I can think of nothing else. This is what I began to write, thinking that I could express myself better in a letter, for my presence irritates her," said he, giving him the letter.
Stepan Arkadyevitch took the paper, and looked with perplexity and surprise at his brother-in-law's dull eyes, which were fixed on him; then he read:—
I see that my presence is disagreeable to you; painful as it is for me to recognize it, I know that it is so, and it cannot be otherwise. I do not blame you. God knows that, during your illness, I resolved to forget the past, and to begin a new life. I am not sorry, I never shall be sorry, for what I did then. I desired only one thing,—your salvation, the salvation of your soul, and now I see that I have not succeeded. Tell me yourself, what will give you true peace and happiness, and I will submit to whatever you may deem just and right.
Stepan Arkadyevitch gave the letter back to his brother-in-law; and with the same perplexity, he simply stared at his brother-in-law, not knowing what to say. This silence was so uncomfortable to both that Stepan Arkadyevitch's lips trembled convulsively, while he did not take his eyes from Karenin's face.
"That is what I wanted to say to her," said Alekseï Aleksandrovitch, turning away.
"Yes, yes," said Stepan Arkadyevitch, but he could not go on, the tears so choked his utterance. "Yes, yes, I understand you."
"I should like to know what she wishes," said he, at last.
"I am afraid that she herself does not realize her own situation. She is not a judge of the matter," said Stepan Arkadyevitch, trying to recover himself." She is crushed, literally crushed, by your magnanimity; if she should read your letter, she would be unable to say a word, and could only bow her head still lower."
"Yes! But what is to be done in such a case? How can it be settled? How can I know what she wishes?"
"If you will allow me to express my opinion, I think it is for you to state clearly what measure you believe necessary to put an end to this situation at once."
"Consequently, you think it ought to be ended at once?" interrupted Alekseï Aleksandrovitch. "But how?" he added, passing the back of his hand over his eyes in an unusual way. "I see no possible way out of it!"
"There is a way out of every difficulty, however serious it may be," said Stepan Arkadyevitch, rising, and growing more animated. "There was a time when you wished for a divorce .... if you are convinced now that you can never be happy together again ...."
"Happiness may be understood in different ways. Let us grant that I agree to everything, that I have no wishes in the matter, what escape is there from our situation?"
"If you wish for my advice," said Stepan Arkadyevitch, with the same smooth, almond-oily, affectionate smile with which he had spoken to his sister; and this smile was so persuasive that Alekseï Aleksandrovitch, giving himself up to the weakness which overpowered him, was involuntarily inclined to believe what his brother-in-law said. "She will never say what her wishes are. But there is one thing possible, one thing that she may hope for," continued Stepan Arkadyevitch, "and that is to break the bonds which are only the cause of cruel recollections. In my opinion, it is indispensable to put your relations on an entirely new footing, and that can only be done by both of you resuming your freedom."
"Divorce!" interrupted Alekseï Aleksandrovitch, with disgust.
"Yes, I suppose that divorce .... yes, divorce," repeated Stepan Arkadyevitch, blushing. "Taking everything into consideration, that is the most sensible course when two married people find themselves in such a situation as yours. What is to be done, when husband and wife find that living together is impossible? This can always be brought about."
Aleksei Aleksandrovitch drew a deep sigh, and covered his eyes.
"There is only one consideration,—whether one of the parties wishes to marry again. If not, it is very simple," continued Stepan Arkadyevitch, recovering more and more from his feeling of constraint.
Alekseï Aleksandrovitch, with his face distorted by emotion, muttered something to himself, but made no reply. What seemed so simple to Oblonsky, he had turned over a thousand thousand times in his mind, and, instead of finding it very easy, found it utterly impossible. Now that the conditions for divorce were known to him, it seemed to him impossible, because the sense of his personal dignity, as well as his respect for religion, prevented him from confessing to a fictitious accusation of adultery and still less permitting his wife, whom he had once pardoned and still loved, to be disgraced and put to shame. Divorce seemed impossible from still other and even more important reasons.
What would become of their son? To leave him with his mother was impossible. The divorced mother would have her own illegitimate family, in which the child's position and training would be wretched. Should he keep the child for himself? But he knew that would be an act of vengeance, and vengeance he did not want.
But, above all, what made divorce impossible in his eyes was the thought that, in consenting to it, he himself would contribute to Anna's destruction. The words spoken by Darya Aleksandrovna, when he was in Moscow, remained graven in his heart, that in getting a divorce, he was thinking only of himself, and forgetting that it would be her irretrievable ruin. These words, now that he had forgiven her and had become attached to the children, had a very significant meaning to him. To consent to a divorce, to give Anna her liberty, was to cut away the last tie that bound himself to life, to her children whom he loved, and was to take away her last help in the way of salvation, and to push her over the precipice.
If she became a divorced woman, he knew very well that she would be united to Vronsky, and such a bond would be criminal and illegal; because a woman, according to the laws of the Church, cannot enter into a second marriage during the lifetime of her husband.
"And who knows but, after a year or two, either he might abandon her, or she might form a new liaison?" thought Alekseï Aleksandrovitch; "and I, having allowed an illegal divorce, should be responsible for her fall."
He had gone over all this a hundred times, and was convinced that divorce was not by any means so simple as his brother-in-law would make it out; that it was wholly impossible.
He did not admit a word of what Stepan Arkadyevitch said; he had a thousand arguments to refute such reasoning; and, notwithstanding this, he listened, feeling that his words were the manifestation of that irresistible force which ruled his life, and to which he would finally submit.
"The only question is, how, on what conditions, you will consent to a divorce; for she will never dare to ask anything of you, and will give herself up entirely to your magnanimity."
"My God! my God! why has this come upon me?" thought Alekseï Aleksandrovitch; and, as he remembered the condition of divorce in which the husband assumed the blame, from shame he buried his face in his hands, as Vronsky had done.
"You are distressed; I understand it; but if you will consider ...."
"'Whosoever smiteth thee on the right cheek, turn to him the other also; and if any man would take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also,'" thought Alekseï Aleksandrovitch.—"Yes, yes!" he cried, in his piping voice. "I will take all the shame upon myself; I will even give up my son . ....But will it not be better to leave all that? However, do as you please." ....
And turning away from his brother-in-law, that he might not see his face, he sat down near the window. He was grieved; he was ashamed; but with this grief and shame he felt a sense of happiness and emotion in the consciousness of his own humility.
Stepan Arkadyevitch was touched.
"Alekseï Aleksandrovitch, be assured that she will appreciate your generosity," said he, after a pause. " It is, without doubt, the will of God," he added; but he felt, as soon as the words were out of his mouth, what a foolish remark it was, and he could hardly restrain a smile at his own foolishness.
Alekseï Aleksandrovitch would have replied, but tears prevented him.
"This trial comes by fate, and it must be accepted. I accept it as an accomplished fact, and I will try to help you and her," said Stepan Arkadyevitch.
When Stepan Arkadyevitch left his brother-in-law's cabinet, he was touched, but this fact did not prevent him from being delighted at having settled this matter; for he was certain that Alekseï Aleksandrovitch would not go back on his word. His satisfaction suggested a conundrum which he could ask his wife and intimate friends:—
"What is the difference between me and a field-marshal? The field-marshal makes divorces, and nobody is the better for it; while I make divorces, and three people are better off. .... Or, rather, what resemblance is there between me and a field-marshal? Where .... but by and by I'll improve on it," he said to himself with a smile.