Part Four: Chapter 17

by Leo Tolstoy

　　Unconsciously going over in his memory the conversations that hadtaken place during and after dinner, Alexey Alexandrovitchreturned to his solitary room. Darya Alexandrovna's words aboutforgiveness had aroused in him nothing but annoyance. Theapplicability or non-applicability of the Christian precept tohis own case was too difficult a question to be discussedlightly, and this question had long ago been answered by AlexeyAlexandrovitch in the negative. Of all that had been said, whatstuck most in his memory was the phrase of stupid, good-naturedTurovtsin--"Acted like a man, he did! Called him out and shothim!" Everyone had apparently shared this feeling, though frompoliteness they had not expressed it.

　　"But the matter is settled, it's useless thinking about it,"Alexey Alexandrovitch told himself. And thinking of nothing butthe journey before him, and the revision work he had to do, hewent into his room and asked the porter who escorted him wherehis man was. The porter said that the man had only just goneout. Alexey Alexandrovitch ordered tea to be sent him, sat downto the table, and taking the guidebook, began considering theroute of his journey.

　　"Two telegrams," said his manservant, coming into the room. "Ibeg your pardon, your excellency; I'd only just that minute goneout."

　　Alexey Alexandrovitch took the telegrams and opened them. Thefirst telegram was the announcement of Stremov's appointment tothe very post Karenin had coveted. Alexey Alexandrovitch flungthe telegram down, and flushing a little, got up and began topace up and down the room. "Quos vult perdere dementat," hesaid, meaning by quos the persons responsible for thisappointment. He was not so much annoyed that he had not receivedthe post, that he had been conspicuously passed over; but it wasincomprehensible, amazing to him that they did not see that thewordy phrase-monger Stremov was the last man fit for it. Howcould they fail to see how they were ruining themselves, loweringtheir prestige by this appointment?

　　"Something else in the same line," he said to himself bitterly,opening the second telegram. The telegram was from his wife.Her name, written in blue pencil, "Anna," was the first thingthat caught his eye. "I am dying; I beg, I implore you to come.I shall die easier with your forgiveness," he read. He smiledcontemptuously, and flung down the telegram. That this was atrick and a fraud, of that, he thought for the first minute,there could be no doubt.

　　"There is no deceit she would stick at. She was near herconfinement. Perhaps it is the confinement. But what can betheir aim? To legitimize the child, to compromise me, andprevent a divorce," he thought. "But something was said in it: Iam dying...." He read the telegram again, and suddenly the plainmeaning of what was said in it struck him.

　　"And if it is true?" he said to himself. "If it is true that inthe moment of agony and nearness to death she is genuinelypenitent, and I, taking it for a trick, refuse to go? That wouldnot only be cruel, and everyone would blame me, but it would bestupid on my part."

　　"Piotr, call a coach; I am going to Petersburg," he said to hisservant.

　　Alexey Alexandrovitch decided that he would go to Petersburg andsee his wife. If her illness was a trick, he would say nothingand go away again. If she was really in danger, and wished tosee him before her death, he would forgive her if he found heralive, and pay her the last duties if he came too late.

　　All the way he thought no more of what he ought to do.

　　With a sense of weariness and uncleanness from the night spent inthe train, in the early fog of Petersburg Alexey Alexandrovitchdrove through the deserted Nevsky and stared straight before him,not thinking of what was awaiting him. He could not think aboutit, because in picturing what would happen, he could not driveaway the reflection that her death would at once remove all thedifficulty of his position. Bakers, closed shops, night-cabmen,porters sweeping the pavements flashed past his eyes, and hewatched it all, trying to smother the thought of what wasawaiting him, and what he dared not hope for, and yet was hopingfor. He drove up to the steps. A sledge and a carriage with thecoachman asleep stood at the entrance. As he went into theentry, Alexey Alexandrovitch, as it were, got out his resolutionfrom the remotest corner of his brain, and mastered itthoroughly. Its meaning ran: "If it's a trick, then calmcontempt and departure. If truth, do what is proper."

　　The porter opened the door before Alexey Alexandrovitch rang.The porter, Kapitonitch, looked queer in an old coat, without atie, and in slippers.

　　"How is your mistress?"

　　"A successful confinement yesterday."

　　Alexey Alexandrovitch stopped short and turned white. He feltdistinctly now how intensely he had longed for her death.

　　"And how is she?"

　　Korney in his morning apron ran downstairs.

　　"Very ill," he answered. "There was a consultation yesterday,and the doctor's here now."

　　"Take my things," said Alexey Alexandrovitch, and feeling somerelief at the news that there was still hope of her death, hewent into the hall

　　On the hatstand there was a military overcoat. AlexeyAlexandrovitch noticed it and asked:

　　"Who is here?"

　　"The doctor, the midwife and Count Vronsky."

　　Alexey Alexandrovitch went into the inner rooms.

　　I the drawing room there was no one; at the sound of his stepsthere came out of her boudoir the midwife in a cap with lilacribbons.

　　She went up to Alexey Alexandrovitch, and with the familiaritygiven by the approach of death took him by the arm and drew himtowards the bedroom.

　　"Thank God you've come! She keeps on about you and nothing butyou," she said.

　　"Make haste with the ice!" the doctor's peremptory voice saidfrom the bedroom.

　　Alexey Alexandrovitch went into her boudoir.

　　At the table, sitting sideways in a low chair, was Vronsky, hisface hidden in his hands, weeping. He jumped up at the doctor'svoice, took his hands from his face, and saw AlexeyAlexandrovitch. Seeing the husband, he was so overwhelmed thathe sat down again, drawing his head down to his shoulders, as ifhe wanted to disappear; but he made an effort over himself, gotup and said:

　　"She is dying. The doctors say there is no hope. I am entirelyin your power, only let me be here...though I am at yourdisposal. I..."

　　Alexey Alexandrovitch, seeing Vronsky's tears, felt a rush ofthat nervous emotion always produced in him by the sight of otherpeople's suffering, and turning away his face, he moved hurriedlyto the door, without hearing the rest of his words. From thebedroom came the sound of Anna's voice saying something. Hervoice was lively, eager, with exceedingly distinct intonations.Alexey Alexandrovitch went into the bedroom, and went up to thebed. She was lying turned with her face towards him. Her cheekswere flushed crimson, her eyes glittered, her little white handsthrust out from the sleeves of her dressing gown were playingwith the quilt, twisting it about. It seemed as though she werenot only well and blooming, but in the happiest frame of mind.She was talking rapidly, musically, and with exceptionallycorrect articulation and expressive intonation.

　　"For Alexey--I am speaking of Alexey Alexandrovitch (what astrange and awful thing that both are Alexey, isn't it?)--Alexeywould not refuse me. I should forget, he would forgive.... Butwhy doesn't he come? He's so good he doesn't know himself howgood he is. Ah, my God, what agony! Give me some water, quick!Oh, that will be bad for her, my little girl! Oh, very wellthen, give her to a nurse. Yes, I agree, it's better in fact.He'll be coming; it will hurt him to see her. Give her to thenurse."

　　"Anna Arkadyevna, he has come. Here he is!" said the midwife,trying to attract her attention to Alexey Alexandrovitch.

　　"Oh, what nonsense!" Anna went on, not seeing her husband. "No,give her to me; give me my little one! He has not come yet. Yousay he won't forgive me, because you don't know him. No oneknows him. I'm the only one, and it was hard for me even. Hiseyes I ought to know--Seryozha has just the same eyes--and Ican't bear to see them because of it. Has Seryozha had hisdinner? I know everyone will forget him. He would not forget.Seryozha must be moved into the corner room, and Mariette must beasked to sleep with him."

　　All of a sudden she shrank back, was silent; and in terror, asthough expecting a blow, as though to defend herself, she raisedher hands to her face. She had seen her husband.

　　"No, no!" she began. "I am not afraid of him; I am afraid ofdeath. Alexey, come here. I am in a hurry, because I've notime, I've not long left to live; the fever will begin directlyand I shall understand nothing more. Now I understand, Iunderstand it all, I see it all!"

　　Alexey Alexandrovitch's wrinkled face wore an expression ofagony; he took her by the hand and tried to say something, but hecould not utter it; his lower lip quivered, but he still went onstruggling with his emotion, and only now and then glanced ather. And each time he glanced at her, he saw her eyes gazing athim with such passionate and triumphant tenderness as he hadnever seen in them.

　　"Wait a minute, you don't know...stay a little, stay!..." Shestopped, as though collecting her ideas. "Yes," she began; "yes,yes, yes. This is what I wanted to say. Don't be surprised atme. I'm still the same.... But there is another woman in me,I'm afraid of her: she loved that man, and I tried to hate you,and could not forget about her that used to be. I'm not thatwoman. Now I'm my real self, all myself. I'm dying now, I knowI shall die, ask him. Even now I feel--see here, the weights onmy feet, on my hands, on my fingers. My fingers--see how hugethey are! But this will soon all be over.... Only one thing Iwant: forgive me, forgive me quite. I'm terrible, but my nurseused to tell me; the holy martyr--what was her name? She wasworse. And I'll go to Rome; there's a wilderness, and there Ishall be no trouble to any one, only I'll take Seryozha and thelittle one.... No, you can't forgive me! I know, it can't beforgiven! No, no, go away, you're too good!" She held his handin one burning hand, while she pushed him away with the other.

　　The nervous agitation of Alexey Alexandrovitch kept increasing,and had by now reached such a point that he ceased to strugglewith it. He suddenly felt that what he had regarded as nervousagitation was on the contrary a blissful spiritual condition thatgave him all at once a new happiness he had never known. He didnot think that the Christian law that he had been all his lifetrying to follow, enjoined on him to forgive and love hisenemies; but a glad feeling of love and forgiveness for hisenemies filled his heart. He knelt down, and laying his head inthe curve of her arm, which burned him as with fire through thesleeve, he sobbed like a little child. She put her arm aroundhis head, moved towards him, and with defiant pride lifted up hereyes.

　　"That is he. I knew him! Now, forgive me, everyone, forgiveme!... They've come again; why don't they go away?... Oh, takethese cloaks off me!"

　　The doctor unloosed her hands, carefully laying her on thepillow, and covered her up to the shoulders. She lay backsubmissively, and looked before her with beaming eyes.

　　"Remember one thing, that I needed nothing but forgiveness, andI want nothing more.... Why doesn't he come?" she said, turningto the door towards Vronsky. "Do come, do come! Give him yourhand."

　　Vronsky came to the side of the bed, and seeing Anna, again hidhis face in his hands.

　　"Uncover your face--look at him! He's a saint," she said. "Oh!uncover your face, do uncover it!" she said angrily. "AlexeyAlexandrovitch, do uncover his face! I want to see him."

　　Alexey Alexandrovitch took Vronsky's hands and drew them awayfrom his face, which was awful with the expression of agony andshame upon it.

　　"Give him your hand. Forgive him."

　　Alexey Alexandrovitch gave him his hand, not attempting torestrain the tears that streamed from his eyes.

　　"Thank God, thank God!" she said, "now everything is ready. Onlyto stretch my legs a little. There, that's capital. How badlythese flowers are done--not a bit like a violet," she said,pointing to the hangings. "My God, my God! when will it end?Give me some morphine. Doctor, give me some morphine! Oh, myGod, my God!"

　　And she tossed about on the bed.

　　The doctors said that it was puerperal fever, and that it wasninety-nine chances in a hundred it would end in death. Thewhole day long there was fever, delirium, and unconsciousness.At midnight the patient lay without consciousness, and almostwithout pulse.

　　The end was expected every minute.

　　Vronsky had gone home, but in the morning he came to inquire, andAlexey Alexandrovitch meeting him in the hall, said: "Betterstay, she might ask for you," and himself led him to his wife'sboudoir. Towards morning, there was a return again ofexcitement, rapid thought and talk, and again it ended inunconsciousness. On the third day it was the same thing, and thedoctors said there was hope. That day Alexey Alexandrovitch wentinto the boudoir where Vronsky was sitting, and closing the doorsat down opposite him.

　　"Alexey Alexandrovitch," said Vronsky, feeling that a statementof the position was coming, "I can't speak, I can't understand.Spare me! However hard it is for you, believe me, it is moreterrible for me."

　　He would have risen; but Alexey Alexandrovitch took him by thehand and said:

　　"I beg you to hear me out; it is necessary. I must explain myfeelings, the feelings that have guided me and will guide me, sothat you may not be in error regarding me. You know I hadresolved on a divorce, and had even begun to take proceedings.I won't conceal from you that in beginning this I was inuncertainty, I was in misery; I will confess that I was pursuedby a desire to revenge myself on you and on her. When I got thetelegram, I came here with the same feelings; I will say more, Ilonged for her death. But...." He paused, pondering whether todisclose or not to disclose his feeling to him. "But I saw herand forgave her. And the happiness of forgiveness has revealedto me my duty. I forgive completely. I would offer the othercheek, I would give my cloak if my coat be taken. I pray to Godonly not to take from me the bliss of forgiveness!"

　　Tears stood in his eyes, and the luminous, serene look in themimpressed Vronsky.

　　"This is my position: you can trample me in the mud, make me thelaughing-stock of the world, I will not abandon her, and I willnever utter a word of reproach to you," Alexey Alexandrovitchwent on. "My duty is clearly marked for me; I ought to be withher, and I will be. If she wishes to see you, I will let youknow, but now I suppose it would be better for you to go away."

　　He got up, and sobs cut short his words. Vronsky too was gettingup, and in a stooping, not yet erect posture, looked up at himfrom under his brows. He did not understand AlexeyAlexandrovitch's feeling, but he felt that it was somethinghigher and even unattainable for him with his view of life.