Leo Tolstoy
Page 75
For several days now Countess Lydia Ivanovna had been in the greatest agitation. She had learned that Anna and Vronsky were in Petersburg. Alexei Alexandrovich had to be saved from meeting her, he had to be saved even from the painful knowledge that this terrible woman was in the same town with him and that he might meet her at any moment.
Lydia Ivanovna, through her acquaintances, gathered intelligence about what those loathsome people, as she called Anna and Vronsky, intended to do, and tried during those days to direct her friend’s every movement so that he would not meet them. The young adjutant, Vronsky’s friend, through whom she obtained information and who hoped to obtain a concession through Countess Lydia Ivanovna, told her that they had finished their business and were leaving the next day. Lydia Ivanovna was beginning to calm down when the next morning she was brought a note and with horror recognized the handwriting. It was the handwriting of Anna Karenina. The envelope was of thick paper, like birch bark; the oblong yellow sheet bore an enormous monogram and the letter gave off a wonderful scent.
‘Who brought it?*
‘A messenger from a hotel.’
It was some time before Countess Lydia Ivanovna could sit down and read the letter. Excitement had given her an attack of the shortness of breath she suffered from. When she calmed down, she read the following, written in French:
Mme la Comtesse: The Christian feelings that fill your heart inspire in me what is, I feel, the unpardonable boldness of writing to you. I am unhappy in being separated from my son. I beg you to allow me to see him once before my departure. Forgive me for reminding you of myself. I am addressing you and not Alexei Alexandrovich only because I do not want to make that magnanimous man suffer from any reminder of me. Knowing your friendship for him, you will understand me. Will you send Seryozha to me, or shall I come to the house at a certain appointed time, or will you let me know where I can see him outside the house? I do not anticipate a refusal, knowing the magnanimity of the person upon whom it depends. You cannot imagine the longing I have to see him, and therefore you cannot imagine the gratitude your help will awaken in me.
Anna.
Everything in this letter annoyed Countess Lydia Ivanovna: the content, the reference to magnanimity and especially what seemed to her the casual tone.
‘Tell him there will be no reply,’ Countess Lydia Ivanovna said and at once, opening her blotting pad, wrote to Alexei Alexandrovich that she hoped to see him between twelve and one for the felicitations at the palace.
‘I must discuss an important and sad matter with you. We will arrange where when we meet. Best of all would be my house, where I shall prepare your tea. It is necessary. He imposes the cross. He also gives the strength,’ she added, so as to prepare him at least a little.
Countess Lydia Ivanovna usually wrote two or three notes a day to Alexei Alexandrovich. She liked this process of communicating with him, as having both elegance and mystery, which were lacking in her personal relations.
XXIV
The felicitations were coming to an end. On their way out, people met and discussed the latest news of the day, the newly bestowed awards, and the transfers of important officials.
‘What if Countess Marya Borisovna got the ministry of war, and Princess Vatkovsky was made chief of staff?’ a grey–haired little old man in a gold–embroidered uniform said, addressing a tall, beautiful lady–in–waiting who had asked about the transfers.
‘And I an aide–de–camp,’ the lady–in–waiting said, smiling.
‘You already have an appointment. In the religious department. And for your assistant – Karenin.’
‘How do you do, Prince!’ said the old man, shaking hands with a man who came over.
‘What did you say about Karenin?’ asked the prince.
‘He and Putyatov got the Alexander Nevsky.’[36]
‘I thought he already had it.’
‘No. Just look at him,’ said the old man, pointing with his embroidered hat to Karenin in his court uniform, a new red sash over his shoulder, standing in the doorway of the reception room with an influential member of the State Council. ‘Happy and pleased as a new copper penny,’ he added, stopping to shake hands with a handsome, athletically built gentleman of the bed–chamber.
‘No, he’s aged,’ the gentleman of the bed–chamber said.
‘From worry. He keeps writing projects nowadays. He won’t let that unfortunate fellow go now until he’s told him everything point by point.’
‘Aged? Il fait des passions.* I think Countess Lydia Ivanovna is now jealous of his wife.’
‘Come, come! Please don’t say anything bad about Countess Lydia Ivanovna.’
‘But is it bad that she’s in love with Karenin?’
‘And is it true that Madame Karenina’s here?’
‘That is, not here in the palace, but in Petersburg. I met them yesterday, her and Alexei Vronsky, bras dessus, bras dessous,* on Morskaya.’
‘C’est un homme qui n’a pas . . .’* the gentleman of the bed–chamber began, but stopped, making way and bowing to a person of the tsar’s family passing by.
So people talked ceaselessly of Alexei Alexandrovich, judging him and laughing at him, while he, standing in the way of a State Council member he had caught, explained his financial project to him point by point, not interrupting his explanation for a moment, so as not to let him slip away.
At almost the same time that his wife had left him, the bitterest of events for a man in the service had also befallen Alexei Alexandrovich – the cessation of his upward movement. This cessation was an accomplished fact and everyone saw it clearly, but Alexei Alexandrovich himself was not yet aware that his career was over. Whether it was the confrontation with Stremov, or the misfortune with his wife, or simply that Alexei Alexandrovich had reached the limit destined for him, it became obvious to everyone that year that his official career had ended. He still occupied an important post, was a member of many commissions and committees, but he was an entirely spent man from whom nothing more was expected. Whatever he said, whatever he proposed, he was listened to as though it had long been known and was the very thing that was not needed.
But Alexei Alexandrovich did not feel this and, on the contrary, being removed from direct participation in government activity, now saw more
* He’s a success with the ladies,
* Arm in arm.
* He’s a man who has no . . .
clearly than before the shortcomings and faults in the work of others and considered it his duty to point out the means for correcting them. Soon after his separation from his wife, he began writing a proposal about the new courts, the first in an endless series of totally unnecessary proposals which he was to write on all branches of administration.
Alexei Alexandrovich not only did not notice his hopeless position in the official world or feel upset by it, but was more satisfied with his activity than ever.
‘He that is married careth for the things that are of the world, how he may please his wife, he that is unmarried careth for the things that belong to the Lord, how he may please the Lord,’ said the apostle Paul,[37] and Alexei Alexandrovich, who was now guided by the Scriptures in all things, often recalled this text. It seemed to him that since he had been left without a wife, he had, by these very projects, served the Lord more than before.
The obvious impatience of the Council member, who wished to get away from him, did not embarrass Alexei Alexandrovich; he stopped explaining only when the member, seizing his chance when a person of the tsar’s family passed, slipped away from him.
Left alone, Alexei Alexandrovich bowed his head, collecting his thoughts, then looked around absentmindedly and went to the door, where he hoped to meet Countess Lydia Ivanovna.
‘And how strong and physically fit they are,’ Alexei Alexandrovich thought, looking at the powerful gentleman of the bed–chamber with his brushed–up, scented side–whiskers and at the red neck of the prince in his tight–fitting uniform, whom he had to pas
s by. ‘It is rightly said that all is evil in the world,’ he thought again, casting another sidelong glance at the calves of the gentleman of the bed–chamber.
Moving his feet unhurriedly, Alexei Alexandrovich, with his usual look of weariness and dignity, bowed to these gentlemen who had been talking about him and, looking through the doorway, sought Countess Lydia Ivanovna with his eyes.
‘Ah! Alexei Alexandrovich!’ said the little old man, his eyes glinting maliciously, as Karenin came abreast of them and nodded his head with a cold gesture. ‘I haven’t congratulated you yet,’ he said, pointing to his newly received sash.
‘Thank you,’ Alexei Alexandrovich replied. ‘What a beautiful day today,’ he added, especially emphasizing the word ‘beautiful’, as was his habit.
That they laughed at him he knew, but he did not expect anything except hostility from them; he was already used to it.
Catching sight of the yellow shoulders rising from the corset of Countess Lydia Ivanovna, who was coming through the door, and of her beautiful, pensive eyes summoning him, Alexei Alexandrovich smiled, revealing his unfading white teeth, and went up to her.
Lydia Ivanovna’s toilette had cost her much trouble, as had all her toilettes of late. The purpose of it was now quite the opposite of the one she had pursued thirty years ago. Then she had wanted to adorn herself with something, and the more the better. Now, on the contrary, the way she felt obliged to adorn herself was so unsuited to her years and figure that her only concern was that the contrast of the adornments with her appearance should not be too terrible. And as far as Alexei Alexandrovich was concerned, she achieved it and looked attractive to him. For him she was the one island not only of kindly disposition but of love amidst the sea of hostility and mockery that surrounded him.
Passing between the rows of mocking eyes, he was naturally drawn to her amorous eyes, as a plant is to the light.
‘Congratulations,’ she said to him, indicating the sash with her eyes.
Suppressing a smile of satisfaction, he shrugged his shoulders and closed his eyes, as if to say it was no cause for rejoicing. Countess Lydia Ivanovna knew very well that it was one of his chief joys, though he would never admit it.
‘How is our angel?’ asked Countess Lydia Ivanovna, meaning Seryozha.
‘I can’t say I’m entirely pleased with him,’ Alexei Alexandrovich said, raising his eyebrows and opening his eyes. ‘And Sitnikov is not pleased with him either.’ (Sitnikov was the teacher entrusted with Seryozha’s secular education.) ‘As I told you, there is some coldness in him towards those very chief questions which ought to touch the soul of every person and every child.’ Alexei Alexandrovich began to explain his thoughts about the only question that interested him apart from the service – his son’s education.
When Alexei Alexandrovich, with the help of Lydia Ivanovna, returned anew to life and action, he felt it his duty to occupy himself with the education of the son left on his hands. Never having concerned himself with questions of education before, Alexei Alexandrovich devoted some time to the theoretical study of the subject. And, after reading several books on anthropology, pedagogy and didactics, he made himself a plan of education and, inviting the best pedagogue in Petersburg for guidance, got down to business. And this business occupied him constantly.
‘Yes, but his heart? I see his father’s heart in him, and with such a heart a child cannot be bad,’ Countess Lydia Ivanovna said rapturously.
‘Yes, perhaps … As for me, I am fulfilling my duty. That is all I can do.’
‘You shall come to my house,’ Countess Lydia Ivanovna said after a pause, ‘we must talk about a matter that is sad for you. I’d have given anything to deliver you from certain memories, but other people do not think that way. I have received a letter from her. She is here, in Petersburg.’
Alexei Alexandrovich gave a start at the mention of his wife, but his face at once settled into that dead immobility which expressed his utter helplessness in the matter.
‘I was expecting that,’ he said.
Countess Lydia Ivanovna looked at him rapturously, and tears of admiration at the grandeur of his soul came to her eyes.
XXV
When Alexei Alexandrovich entered Countess Lydia Ivanovna’s small, cosy boudoir, filled with antique porcelain and hung with portraits, the hostess herself was not there. She was changing.
On a round table covered with a tablecloth stood a Chinese tea service and a silver spirit–lamp tea–kettle. Alexei Alexandrovich absentmindedly glanced around at the numberless familiar portraits that adorned the boudoir, and, sitting down at the desk, opened the Gospel that lay on it. The rustle of the countess’s silk dress diverted him.
‘Well, there, now we can sit down quietly,’ Countess Lydia Ivanovna said with a nervous smile, hurriedly squeezing between the table and the sofa, ‘and have a talk over tea.’
After a few words of preparation, Countess Lydia Ivanovna, breathing heavily and flushing, handed Alexei Alexandrovich the letter she had received.
Having read the letter, he was silent for a long time.
‘I don’t suppose I have the right to refuse her,’ he said, timidly raising his eyes.
‘My friend! You see no evil in anyone!’
‘On the contrary, I see that everything is evil. But is it fair?…’
There was indecision in his face, a seeking for counsel, support and guidance in a matter incomprehensible to him.
‘No,’ Countess Lydia Ivanovna interrupted him. ‘There is a limit to everything. I can understand immorality,’ she said, not quite sincerely, because she never could understand what led women to immorality, ‘but I do not understand cruelty – and to whom? To you! How can she stay in the same town with you? No, live and learn. And I am learning to understand your loftiness and her baseness.’
‘And who will throw the stone?’[38] said Alexei Alexandrovich, obviously pleased with his role. ‘I forgave everything and therefore cannot deprive her of what for her is a need of love – love for her son …’
‘But is it love, my friend? Is it sincere? Granted, you forgave, you forgive … but do we have the right to influence the soul of this angel? He considers her dead. He prays for her and asks God to forgive her sins .. . And it’s better that way. Otherwise what will he think?’
‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ said Alexei Alexandrovich, obviously agreeing.
Countess Lydia Ivanovna covered her face with her hands and remained silent. She was praying.
‘If you ask my advice,’ she said, finishing her prayer and uncovering her face, ‘I advise you not to do it. Can’t I see how you’re suffering, how it has opened all your wounds? But suppose you forget about yourself, as always. What can it lead to? To new sufferings on your part, to torment for the child? If there’s anything human left in her, she herself should not wish for that. No, I have no hesitation in advising against it, and, if you allow me, I will write to her.’
Alexei Alexandrovich consented, and Countess Lydia Ivanovna wrote the following letter in French:
Dear Madam: A reminder of you may lead to questions on the part of your son which could not be answered without instilling into the child’s soul a spirit of condemnation of what should be holy for him, and therefore I beg you to take your husband’s refusal in the spirit of Christian love. I pray the Almighty to be merciful to you.