Chapter VIII
Alexey Alexandrovitch, on coming back from
church service, had spent the whole morning indoors. He had two
pieces of business before him that morning; first, to receive and
send on a deputation from the native tribes which was on its way to
Petersburg, and now at Moscow; secondly, to write the promised
letter to the lawyer. The deputation, though it had been summoned
at Alexey Alexandrovitch’s instigation, was not without its
discomforting and even dangerous aspect, and he was glad he had
found it in Moscow. The members of this deputation had not the
slightest conception of their duty and the part they were to play.
They naively believed that it was their business to lay before the
commission their needs and the actual condition of things, and to
ask assistance of the government, and utterly failed to grasp that
some of their statements and requests supported the contention of
the enemy’s side, and so spoiled the whole business. Alexey
Alexandrovitch was busily engaged with them for a long while, drew
up a program for them from which they were not to depart, and on
dismissing them wrote a letter to Petersburg for the guidance of
the deputation. He had his chief support in this affair in the
Countess Lidia Ivanovna. She was a specialist in the matter of
deputations, and no one knew better than she how to manage them,
and put them in the way they should go. Having completed this task,
Alexey Alexandrovitch wrote the letter to the lawyer. Without the
slightest hesitation he gave him permission to act as he might
judge best. In the letter he enclosed three of Vronsky’s notes to
Anna, which were in the portfolio he had taken away.
Since Alexey Alexandrovitch had left home with the
intention of not returning to his family again, and since he had
been at the lawyer’s and had spoken, though only to one man, of his
intention, since especially he had translated the matter from the
world of real life to the world of ink and paper, he had grown more
and more used to his own intention, and by now distinctly perceived
the feasibility of its execution.
He was sealing the envelope to the lawyer, when he
heard the loud tones of Stepan Arkadyevitch’s voice. Stepan
Arkadyevitch was disputing with Alexey Alexandrovitch’s servant,
and insisting on being announced.
“No matter,” thought Alexey Alexandrovitch, “so
much the better. I will inform him at once of my position in regard
to his sister, and explain why it is I can’t dine with him.”
“Come in!” he said aloud, collecting his papers,
and putting them in the blotting-paper.
“There, you see, you’re talking nonsense, and he’s
at home!” responded Stepan Arkadyevitch’s voice, addressing the
servant, who had refused to let him in, and taking off his coat as
he went, Oblonsky walked into the room. “Well, I’m awfully glad
I’ve found you! So I hope...” Stepan Arkadyevitch began
cheerfully.
“I cannot come,” Alexey Alexandrovitch said coldly,
standing and not asking his visitor to sit down.
Alexey Alexandrovitch had thought to pass at once
into those frigid relations in which he ought to stand with the
brother of a wife against whom he was beginning a suit for divorce.
But he had not taken into account the ocean of kindliness brimming
over in the heart of Stepan Arkadyevitch.
Stepan Arkadyevitch opened wide his clear, shining
eyes.
“Why can’t you? What do you mean?” he asked in
perplexity, speaking in French. “Oh, but it’s a promise. And we’re
all counting on you.”
“I want to tell you that I can’t dine at your
house, because the terms of relationship which have existed between
us must cease.”
“How? How do you mean? What for?” said Stepan
Arkadyevitch with a smile.
“Because I am beginning an action for divorce
against your sister, my wife. I ought to have . . .”
But, before Alexey Alexandrovitch had time to
finish his sentence, Stepan Arkadyevitch was behaving not at all as
he had expected. He groaned and sank into an armchair.
“No, Alexey Alexandrovitch! What are you saying?”
cried Oblonsky, and his suffering was apparent in his face.
“It is so.”
“Excuse me, I can’t, I can’t believe it!”
Alexey Alexandrovitch sat down, feeling that his
words had not had the effect he anticipated, and that it would be
unavoidable for him to explain his position, and that, whatever
explanations he might make, his relations with his brother-in-law
would remain unchanged.
“Yes, I am brought to the painful necessity of
seeking a divorce,” he said.
“I will say one thing, Alexey Alexandrovitch. I
know you for an excellent, upright man; I know Anna—excuse me, I
can’t change my opinion of her—for a good, an excellent woman; and
so, excuse me, I cannot believe it. There is some
misunderstanding,” said he.
“Oh, if it were merely a misunderstanding!
...”
“Pardon, I understand,” interposed Stepan
Arkadyevitch. “But of course . . . One thing: you must not act in
haste. You must not, you must not act in haste!”
“I am not acting in haste,” Alexey Alexandrovitch
said coldly, “but one cannot ask advice of any one in such a
matter. I have quite made up my mind.”
“This is awful!” said Stepan Arkadyevitch. “I would
do one thing, Alexey Alexandrovitch. I beseech you, do it!” he
said. “No action has yet been taken, if I understand rightly.
Before you take advice, see my wife, talk to her. She loves Anna
like a sister, she loves you, and she’s a wonderful woman. For
God’s sake, talk to her! Do me that favor, I beseech you!”
Alexey Alexandrovitch pondered, and Stepan
Arkadyevitch looked at him sympathetically, without interrupting
his silence.
“You will go to see her?”
“I don’t know. That was just why I have not been to
see you. I imagine our relations must change.”
“Why so? I don’t see that. Allow me to believe that
apart from our connection you have for me, at least in part, the
same friendly feeling I have always had for you . . . and sincere
esteem,” said Stepan Arkadyevitch, pressing his hand. “Even if your
worst suppositions were correct, I don’t—and never would—take on
myself to judge either side, and I see no reason why our relations
should be affected. But now, do this, come and see my wife.”
“Well, we look at the matter differently,” said
Alexey Alexandrovitch coldly. “However, we won’t discuss it.”
“No; why shouldn’t you come to-day to dine, anyway?
My wife’s expecting you. Please, do come. And, above all, talk it
over with her. She’s a wonderful woman. For God’s sake, on my
knees, I implore you!”
“If you so much wish it, I will come,” said Alexey
Alexandrovitch, sighing.
And, anxious to change the conversation, he
inquired about what interested them both—the new head of Stepan
Arkadyevitch’s department, a man not yet old, who had suddenly been
promoted to so high a position.
Alexey Alexandrovitch had previously felt no liking
for Count Anitchkin, and had always differed from him in his
opinions. But now, from a feeling readily comprehensible to
officials—that hatred felt by one who has suffered a defeat in the
service for one who has received a promotion, he could not endure
him.
“Well, have you seen him?” said Alexey
Alexandrovitch with a malignant smile.
“Of course; he was at our sitting yesterday. He
seems to know his work capitally, and to be very energetic.”
“Yes, but what is his energy directed to?” said
Alexey Alexandrovitch. “Is he aiming at doing anything, or simply
undoing what’s been done? It’s the great misfortune of our
government—this paper administration, of which he’s a worthy
representative.”
“Really, I don’t know what fault one could find
with him. His policy I don’t know, but one thing—he’s a very nice
fellow,” answered Stepan Arkadyevitch. “I’ve just been seeing him,
and he’s really a capital fellow. We lunched together, and I taught
him how to make, you know that drink, wine and oranges. It’s so
cooling. And it’s a wonder he didn’t know it. He liked it awfully.
No, really he’s a capital fellow.”
Stepan Arkadyevitch glanced at his watch.
“Why, good heavens, it’s four already, and I’ve
still to go to Dolgovushin’s ! So please come round to dinner. You
can’t imagine how you will grieve my wife and me.”
The way in which Alexey Alexandrovitch saw his
brother-in-law out was very different from the manner in which he
had met him.
“I’ve promised, and I’ll come,” he answered
wearily.
“Believe me, I appreciate it, and I hope you won’t
regret it,” answered Stepan Arkadyevitch, smiling.
And, putting on his coat as he went, he patted the
footman on the head, chuckled, and went out.
“At five o’clock, and not evening dress, please,”
he shouted once more, turning at the door.